Rest in Peace
by MarcellaDix
Summary: Hermione is becoming a woman and does not quite know how to deal with all the feelings that come with that. She turns to an adult for help, reluctant to accept any help he might offer. How will they both deal with that? - Staying close to canon where possible. Mature content including minors and non-con. No chapter-individual warnings. Turn away now if this is not for you.
1. Dead Man

_A/N: So, I recently became addicted with_ "Once More, With Feeling" _, also known as episode seven of the sixth season of_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _. Ever since, I had all the songs of that episode running through my head, and they quickly mingled with possible pairings, and some of them had love children that I am now trying to work into stories._

 _This one will be published in three to four parts, and follows Hermione's growth from girl into woman. In the episode it is sung by Spike, portraied by the talented James Marster, but I applied the lyrics to another delicious bad boy here. Hermione may appear quite OOC in this story, but we since only see her from Harry's perspective in the books (and let's be honest, Harry was quite beside himself during most of OOTP), we do not really know how Hermione coped with puberty. And much as I am one of those Hermione-fans who simply say she skipped puberty in and of itself, I hereby present to you my take on what the beginning of maturity might have looked for her, but from another's perspective. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _ **I died,**_

 _ **So many years ago,**_

 _ **But you can make me feel**_

 _ **Like it isn't so.**_

 _ **And why you come to be with me,**_

 _ **I think I finally know:**_

* * *

Sirius hated number 12, Grimmauld Place, with a vengeance. He had hated it as a kid, growing up with the heads of decapitated House Elves on the walls of the sinister house, and he hated it now, as an adult, cooped up in those same walls that he had fought so hard to escape.

But where had that escape led him? Azkaban, the feared wizarding prison. Azkaban, Hell on Earth. Azkaban, death to the young energetic man that had entered the draughty halls guarded by soul-sucking monsters. Azkaban, birthing place to the broken fugitive that he was now.

Two years had he spent on the run; one running towards his godson, one away from his persecutors. When Albus had asked him whether he might avail Grimmauld Place as headquarters to the Order, he had not hesitated for a second. But these last few weeks he had spent under Molly Weasley's thumb as she had him help clean the place from top to bottom, he had come to almost regret his decision.

Not that he minded scourging his family seat of all the darkness and decay that the Blacks had accumulated over the centuries; no, it was the way that Molly chased him from room to room, corner to corner, draping to draping, and closet to closet, in her wild cleaning binge, that drove him mad more than being cooped up in this Light-forsaken place.

Until _she_ came.

When he had first met her, she'd been a frightened fourteen-year-old that had stood up to her friends in order to have him, who they still thought to be a mass murderer and traitor of her best friend's parents, answer to her logical questions. He had admired her then, and had admired her even more a few hours later, when she accompanied his godson on a Hippogriff in order to rescue him from his temporary prison in the Astronomy tower.

The second time they'd met had been exactly nine months later, in a cave near Hogsmeade. He had not exactly looked his best then, and she had been bundled up in thick winter clothes, as March in Scotland was always harsh.

Now, a few months later, she brightened the house with her smile, or at least it seemed that way to Sirius. Hermione Granger had blossomed over the time since he had last seen her, and was now a confident, out-spoken, beautiful young woman.

Sirius came to spend time with Hermione, as the evenings often found her in the library, curled up in one of the cushioned armchairs in front of the fire, hair held back in a messy makeshift bun as her head was bent over one thick tome or another, at an angle that made Sirius's neck hurt just from looking at her. His liquor cabinet was conveniently situated in the library as well, and so it came that he often sat across from her and enjoyed her presence. From time to time, Remus would accompany them, and together they would indulge in pleasant banter, or sophisticated discussion over the odd scientific and/or magical topic.

Sirius especially valued the evenings that he was alone with her. They would sit in long, comfortable silence, infused only with the crackling of the fire and the occasional turning of a page. He would sip on his heavy crystal tumbler of firewhiskey, and she would have her eyes fixed on the words written on the page before her, drinking in their knowledge. Her breasts, clad in a skimpy top due to the heat of the fire, would swell and abate, like the tide, with her every breath. It became the most fascinating sight to Sirius, and he could hardly tear his eyes away. Whenever he did manage to raise his gaze to her face, it was only to see a knowing smile playing around her lips, though her eyes never met his.

A week flew by, and most of a second quickly followed, as Sirius spiralled deeper and deeper into his obsession that was the curly-haired beauty prancing about the house, banishing the darkness with her every smile and scourging away the decay with every peal of her laughter. Her youthful mirth and optimistic nature helped Sirius forget the years he had spent living in hell, in a deathlike trance that could hardly be called an existence at all. Instead, her presence called back the life that had been forcibly ripped away from him, that day that a number was branded into his skin and a bolted door shut in front of his face.

Until it was one Friday night, close to two weeks into his falling for the charms of one Miss Hermione Granger, that there was a knock on the door to his room. It was late, close to midnight, and all Order members had either left for bed, or for their homes, or for whatever plans they had for a Friday night in mid-July. Hermione had left for her bed an hour earlier, and Sirius had turned in shortly after she had. Meaning to go to sleep in a minute, he had just extinguished the fire in the generous fireplace that came with the bedroom befitting the Black heir. Sirius hated this room, and had done his best to deface it in his youth, colouring it in gold and Gryffindor crimson, and plastering the walls with posters of Muggle beauties on Muggle bikes.

He now regretted that decision as he opened the door to the petite girl that had come to occupy his every waking and dreaming moment.

Hermione stood there, clad in an oversized shirt that almost fully hid her hip-hugging shorts, her hair little successfully tamed into a French braid that spilled messy, wilful curls every inch of the way. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

As it was, it took him a minute to take in her sight, and then another to get his brain working again.

"Hermione," he said, his surprise clear in his deep voice, "what are you doing here?"

She shuffled from foot to foot before replying, "Well, Ginny and my room is cold, but she's already sleeping, only I couldn't fall asleep in the cold, and since I'm not allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts yet, I couldn't light the fireplace, and –"

"I see," Sirius interrupted her flood of words. "Do you want me to light your fire?"

He inwardly groaned at his phrasing, as soon as the words had left his mouth. It was exactly what _he_ wanted to do to her, only thinly veiled in the reason that had brought her to his room.

"There's no need for that, Sirius," she replied with that knowing smile on her face that he had come to think of as his, and his alone; only now, she was looking into his eyes with that smile on her lips, and he was almost certain, _almost_ certain that she _knew_ what he had not meant to say, and that she _meant_ what he so longed to hear.

"You know," she said, as if oblivious to his musings, though her smile still told him that she very clearly wasn't, "there are other ways of staying warm."

His dumb-founded expression and the fact that he still had not moved to invite her in must have prompted her to clarify, because she pressed on, " _Muggle_ ways."

And when he _still_ did not make room for her, she took it for herself. Pushing around his strong frame in the doorway, her breasts skimmed his torso as she crossed into his room, and sauntering towards his bed, she pulled back the covers and climbed in.

Sirius couldn't believe his luck, but closed the door and warded it for good measure, unwilling to let this dream escape that had just insinuated itself into his bed. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall from his shoulders, he revelled in the shy, but scourging hot gaze that followed every patch of his skin he revealed. Unlacing and kicking off his boots, he unbuckled his belt and shoved off his heavy leather pants. Not meaning to scare her away, he kept his boxers on and lazily walked towards the bed. When he stood in front of it, he shot her one last look, silently asking for her permission and her assurance.

"Come to bed, Sirius," the siren that was Hermione beckoned, "and _cuddle_ me."

* * *

 _And why you come to be with me,_

 _I think I finally know:_

 _ **You're scared,**_

 _ **Ashamed of what you feel,**_

 _ **And you can't tell the ones you love,**_

 _ **You know they couldn't deal.**_

 _ **Whisper in a dead man's ear,**_

 _ **It doesn't make it real.**_

* * *

And so Sirius suffered through night after night of _cuddling_ the girl he desired. Hermione would come to his room late at night, when everybody else was already sleeping, and climb into his bed. When Sirius joined her, she would shuffle close to him, until his front comfortably spooned her back – _for warmth,_ she would reason with that knowing smile of hers – and wiggle until her bum was pressed against his rather substantial bulge. She would giggle seductively at his frustrated groan and grind her delicious backside into Sirius's crotch once more for good measure, until one of his big, warm hands gripped her hip in order to keep her still, while the other combed through her hair until it was well and thoroughly entangled in her curls, and pull lightly, which would in turn pull the most delightful moans from deep within Hermione's throat.

Over the nights that she came to him, Hermione gradually allowed his hands to roam further, though he did not know whether that was by conscious decision or by loss of blood flow in her brain as she became more and more pulled into the pleasure that Sirius bestowed on her, within the meagre limits provided to him. That first Friday night, she had grabbed his hand in a death grip when he made so much as to slip under her shirt to rest on the warm skin of her taut stomach. This Friday, one week later, she happily pushed into the fingers that twisted her naked nipples, though still under the restraints of her shirt – Sirius had yet to see her beautiful torso in the light, happy though he was with feeling her smooth skin under his rough fingertips.

He knew he had little time. After all, a week from now, Harry would arrive, and would take up most of his time, and/or Hermione's. Gone would be their pleasant evenings in the library, just between the two of them with the occasional visit from Remus. Gone would be the seductive looks she now shot him while cleaning. Gone her bell-like laughter that was just for him.

Little did Sirius know that all that might be gone much faster, and at no fault of Harry's.

Emboldened by the fact that time that was running out fast, as it seemed to him, Sirius left her breasts with one last tweak to her right nipple, and slid his hand slowly down her body towards her core. When Hermione made no move to stop him, he slipped under the waistband of her shorts. They both moaned simultaneously as his fingers met her hot nether lips. Sirius cupped her mound, pulling her further into him, as he ground his hard member into the crevice of her lower cheeks that hugged him so perfectly.

His middle finger slowly entered her heated core. Sirius listened to her breathing, moving in a rhythm that her lungs set for him, and added a second finger when her breath hitched. His thumb found that sweet button that was soon to rock her world, if he had his way. Unwilling to only lie behind his little witch, however, Sirius extracted both his hands from Hermione's body – she helped with the one that was still firmly entangled in her curls, as he could never get it out, and certainly not without pain to her scalp –, rose into a kneeling position, pulled her leg that was closer to him up and over his head, and lowered both the leg and himself until he was half-kneeling, half-lying over her body and between her legs. He leaned down onto one elbow, the hand of the same arm encouragingly stroking her wild mane, as the other insinuated itself once more into the pleasure that the apex of her thighs promised.

His fingers swiftly resumed their position where they had left off mere seconds before, and Sirius soon had a very hot and very bothered witch writhing beneath him. His cock ached as he watched her climb the spiral that led to that sweet climax of pleasure, and his fingers coached her all the way. When his thumb found that one perfect movement that sent her over the edge, he almost came just from watching her tumble over and off the cliff, into the abyss of the first orgasm she derived from his handiwork. In that moment, Sirius promised himself that it wouldn't be the last.

That promise came close to being forever impossible to fulfil with his next words.

"Let me make love to you, Hermione."

Her eyes shot open so wide that even in the dark, Sirius could clearly see the white there. She scrambled away from him, her quick movement dislodging the fingers that had still nestled comfortably in her wet core.

"No," she said with an absoluteness to her voice that had Sirius heart break more than just a little, "no. Never."

"Why not?" Sirius asked, desperation disgustingly audible in his voice. In this moment, he could not care less.

"I am preserving myself for my future husband," came her haughty reply.

And since his blood had obviously completely left his brain, Sirius followed up with, "Marry me, then."

And he meant it.

Hermione, however, did not deign him worthy of an answer, it seemed, as she hurried to leave his bed, although she made sure to do so with a most heart-crushing hauteur. The door fell shut behind her with more power than necessary.

Sirius quickly dismantled the wards that would keep anyone from entering his room from the outside, in case she came back. Then he fell back onto the bed and into a fitful sleep. His last thought before blessed darkness was, _'Well, she did not exactly say No.'_

* * *

Hermione did not come back the following night, nor the one after that, or the one after _that._ In fact, she did not join Sirius in bed again for more nights than he could count in one hand, and that was entirely too much for his taste.

Not only did she stay away from his room, she also kept a distance from his person. Where Hermione had before sought him out in every room she entered, and had deliberately sauntered closer to him while cleaning, she now kept to the far corner of any room they were both in. She even went so far as to suggest that they should split up in order to accelerate their cleaning progress. Sirius felt immense relief when Molly vehemently shot that suggestion down as soon as Hermione had offered it, stating that no child of hers (and she seemed to count Hermione among those) would be left in close contact with Dark objects and cleaning utensils without adult supervision at any time. Sirius thought himself lucky for just that once that she obviously did not count _him_ as an adult.

What Sirius missed terribly, more so even than Hermione's playfully seductive behaviour during their forced cleaning binge, were their comfortable silences in the library. She now only entered that favourite room of hers when she saw that Remus was joining them as well, and left before he did. In short, Hermione made certain not to find herself alone with Sirius anymore.

Their whole interaction with each other changed when Harry arrived a week later. Well, a little over a week later, to be exact, as Sirius's godson was busy shouting at people close to him for quite a while once he joined them at Grimmauld Place. The rational part of Sirius understood; the part yearning for his passionate witch back, however – and that part had mostly swallowed up the other a good time ago –, was desperate for Harry to shut the fuck up and quit his miserable whining. There were certainly bigger issues at hand here, for example the fact that the object of his obsession was missing from Sirius's bed every night.

Where Sirius had expected his relationship with Hermione to change for the worse with Harry's arrival, however, it changed much for the better.

It all came with Ron's new-found masculinity and the disgust of all things female that accompanied it. Lucky for Sirius, the perfectly symmetrical and heavenly smooth mounds that Hermione's breasts had developed into counted among those things.

And so it happened that on one of their cleaning days (which was every day, to be honest), Ginny and Hermione sauntered into the room a little after the boys. Hermione already began to make her way into the corner furthest away from Sirius, as was her wont these days, when Ron failed to keep his big mouth shut.

"What by Merlin's hairy balls are you wearing, 'Mione?" he asked, his mouth gaping open, his face distorted into an expression of severest disgust. "Did you forget to put on any clothes this morning?"

Hermione looked down her body. Sirius followed her gaze and appreciated what he saw there. As usual, she was clad in hip-hugging shorts and a tight tank top that appropriately framed her beautiful breasts for his viewing pleasure. Ron had never spoken out against her clothing style during cleaning before, but it seemed that with his best friend back, he felt the sudden need to become the mindless git that Harry knew him to be.

"Well, I did not want to get my _burka_ dirty, Ron," Hermione shot back. "By the way, you should grow up and work on your swearing. _'Merlin's hairy balls,'_ really? Can you become _any_ less mature? And also, did you notice that you're the only one to mind here?"

"Am not," Ron countered little eloquently.

"Well, for example, _Sirius_ doesn't mind, does he?" his little witch replied in a sweet voice, and sauntered over towards him. Sirius, too happy at her sudden change in demeanour to remember not to believe his luck, greeted Hermione with a welcoming smile and winked at her seductively, which prompted her into a fit of the most wonderful giggles.

Thus it was that Sirius found himself in Hermione's good graces again. Together, they tackled the Doxy-infested curtains, just as Sirius heard Ron ask in the background, "What the heck is a bloody _burka?"_

* * *

When Sirius opened the door to her knock that night, his mouth fell open in pleasant shock. Hermione once more had to wiggle past him in order to climb into his bed, where she then proceeded to sit, a look of perfect innocence on her face, as if she had always come to him clad in nothing more than a silk chemise that left nothing to the imagination, not even the lacy knickers for which she had exchanged her shorts from before.

"You don't _mind_ , do you, Sirius?" she asked sweetly.

Sirius rubbed his face, desperate to have her clothed more appropriately when he opened his eyes again, though what was appropriate attire for an underage witch sitting in her best friend's godfather's bed in the middle of the night, he could not say. And as nothing came up in his mind, he simply wished her to be clad in nothing.

When he opened his eyes, she still wore that damned sexy silk chemise with the lacy knickers.

Sirius groaned and climbed into bed with her. Laying down on his back, he sighed his content when she snuggled into his side, her fingers tracing lazy circles on the muscles of his naked torso.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" Sirius heard himself ask.

Her fingers stopped in their movement for less than a second, before she answered.

"My parents went to tour the continent, and as much as I wanted to come with them, I simply could not go travelling happily for weeks while I knew a war was brewing here. So I excused myself from the trip and arranged to come to headquarters instead."

"That's not what I meant," Sirius said, and knew that she knew that as well. "Why are you _here?"_

It took her a minute or two to answer.

"The others don't _understand,"_ she finally said, frustration audible in her voice. "I feel so… so… _so_ , and they simply _do not understand_. You've seen Ron today, you've seen what I'm usually dealing with. I don't get that from _you_."

Sirius felt that they were on the right track, but still could not quite make do with her answer.

"What is it they don't understand, Hermione?"

"I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor, and Ron just got so angry and petty and _childish_ over it. I knew then that I had been right not to tell the boys before that night who I was going with. I mean, we went to _one bloody dance_ together, and even _that_ Ron could not allow. As if I needed _his permission_ for anything, least of all who I do what with. And it wasn't even that I went with _Viktor_ , and that _he_ got something Ron didn't. No, it was merely because _I_ had a nice night, and Ron could not allow that."

"So what exactly is this about, Hermione?" Sirius queried, still puzzled. "Is this about Ron? Or about doing whatever you wish with whomever you wish? Or simply about having a _nice night_?"

He spat out the words as if personally offended because honestly, he was. Surely he could provide her with more than one night, and more than merely _nice_ at that.

"I don't know where else to go, Sirius," Hermione offered in a small voice. He felt immediately bad for badgering her so, but he needed to know. "I just want to _feel_ , and with you I can do that. I want to _know_ , and I know you won't push me away. I need your company. I need your assurance. I need your acceptance."

' _But you don't need me,'_ Sirius added darkly in his mind. What he said aloud instead was "Come here," as he pulled Hermione more firmly into his embrace.

He had never felt more alive than when he made Hermione come thrice that night.


	2. Willing Slave

_A/N: Hello, hello, and welcome to the second installment of "Rest in Piece". I hope all of you took the time to listen to James Marsters's wonderful interpretation of the song, because truly, the lyrics alone just don't carry the weight that I hope to convey with my little story around them. There will be one more chapter after this, that I have already roughly outlined, facing the bridge and the repetition of the chorus. But now, enjoy! :)_

* * *

 _Whisper in a dead man's ear,_

 _It doesn't make it real._

 _ **That's great,**_

 _ **But I don't wanna play**_

 _ **'Cause being with you touches me –**_

 _ **More than I can say.**_

 _ **And since I'm only dead to you,**_

 _ **I'm saying stay away, and**_

 _ **Let me rest in peace.**_

* * *

When Hermione came to his bed a few nights later, the night before Harry's Ministry hearing, she uttered the one sentence Sirius had been waiting for.

"Sirius," she said, almost breathless in her apparent nervousness, "I want to feel you."

Sirius tried to calm the wild, racing pace that his heartbeat had suddenly chosen, erratic like a rogue bludger, because the blood rushing in his ears was too loud to hear himself think.

"Feel me?" he asked dumbly.

"Yes," Hermione breathed, her mouth now very close to his ear as she lay curled into his side, with Sirius on his back. "Inside me."

Had there been any light in his room, they both would have seen the substantial tent that Sirius's erection pressed into the sheets.

"I want to feel you stretch me. I need to know how that feels. I need to be prepared."

The familiar feeling of acid bitterness crept into Sirius's chest once again, weighing down his heart that had been so elated mere seconds ago.

"Prepared," he echoed, his voice as void of emotion as his fractured heart could never hope to be. "For your future husband?"

"Yes," the little witch next to him whispered. And that one word, that one little word was enough to shove all doubt from Sirius's mind, enough to silence all the voices in his head that screamed that this was wrong, enough to relight the fire burning in his chest. Sirius was prepared to do anything to simply hear that one heartfelt _'Yes'_ once more, to be the one to draw it from his witch's lips, and memorize the sound for eternity.

In the blink of an eye, he had her on her back and was towering over her. Reverently, he pulled the soft lace away from her even softer skin, sliding the fabric upwards along her raised legs and off her feet, dropping it somewhere behind him without looking. A wandlessly muttered Vanishing charm took care of his own boxers. Pushing her legs open, he lowered himself in between them, ready to claim his little witch.

"You know that I would make an honest woman out of you, Hermione," he offered one more time, completely sincere.

"I know you would try," she replied with a dismissive air. "But I don't think _I_ could ever make an honest man out of _you,_ Sirius, and I could never be married to a dishonest man. You understand that, don't you?"

Sirius elected not to answer, it would simply hurt too much. Instead, he set to work on her delightful pussy with his fingers.

"Now, kitten," he tasted the nickname on his tongue and deemed it perfect for the little minx beneath him, "this will hurt."

"No, it won't," came her dry and confident reply.

Sirius startled. Yes, he had her wet, but he was not so small as to not cause her any substantial discomfort. Surely she knew that?

"I thank you for your trust in my abilities to make this experience worth your while, kitten," he cautiously pressed on, "but every woman's first time hurts."

Hermione laughed, but for once, the sound did not lift Sirius's heart. It had a derisive note to it, and he did not like it in the least.

"This won't be my first time."

And his heart shattered into a million pieces.

How could it be? Only yesterday he had felt her hymen when he eagerly pushed into her with his fingers, bringing her to climax time and again. And now, less than a day later, she proclaimed to be a virgin no longer? What the hell had happened during the day?

Pulling him out of his musings, Hermione elaborated, "You won't take my maidenhead, Sirius. I just want to feel the tip of you inside of me, enough to stretch me and grant me an understanding of the girth I should be expecting, but not so deep that you would damage my hymen. Surely you can do that?"

"No," Sirius said. The word left his lips on its own accord, but now that he had uttered that one damning syllable that might drive her from his bed forever, he could not find it within himself to regret it. "No," he reiterated for good measure, "I will not play in this stupid game of yours anymore, Hermione."

She seemed taken aback, but only for a moment.

"Now, let's just calm down for a second and be adults about this, Sirius," she said in that derisive tone that she usually used for Ron only. "I'm merely asking you to –"

"You're asking me to prepare you for some future husband that you clearly stated won't be me. You're asking me to put my heart in your hands for you to crush as you please. You're asking me to give you everything you want, but won't take anything I offer to you."

"I never asked for your _heart,_ Sirius," Hermione snorted, "and you can hardly fault me for you clinging to the first and only witch in this house that you might see yourself having marital relations with, just because no one else is available. Now, can we please get on with this?"

"No," Sirius said, decisively moving away from his position between her legs. "No, we cannot get on with this."

Hermione stared at him in the darkness, her eyes sparkling with anger even in the blackness that was his heart.

"Fine," she finally said, her voice sharp and out for blood, "fine. I better get going then. Just don't expect me back anytime soon."

And with that, she was gone from his room once more, leaving him to collect the shards of his icy heart.

* * *

 _ **Let me rest in peace,**_

 _ **Let me get some sleep.**_

 _ **Let me take my love and bury it**_

 _ **In a hole six foot deep.**_

 _ **I can lay my body down**_

 _ **But I can't find my sweet release,**_

 _ **So let me rest in peace.**_

* * *

Contrary to her word, Hermione was back the following night. It was late, as they had been celebrating Harry's freedom until late into the evening. This time, when she asked him to enter her, he did not refuse her request. Much as it hurt him to be with her but also _not_ be with her, he knew he could not stand seeing her walk away again.

As late as she had come to him, it was early morning when she lay under him in his bed, her legs around his hips, and with the sun starting her climb up and over the horizon, Sirius got to witness the joyful opening of her mouth as it formed a large O in the revelation that was the head of his hard cock in her tight cunt. Her silken sleeve that pulsed around his manhood was the most heavenly thing Sirius had ever experienced. It made him forget the years he had spent in hell, and beckoned him to go deeper. When he nudged her barrier whilst testing out how deep he could go, she shot him an angry look that promised the nastiest hexes to his testicles, and the prosecution of underage magic be damned. Sirius took the hint and withdrew a little.

Emboldened by the fact that she had brought a grown man to his knees, it seemed, Hermione took his hand and closed her lips around his thumb. Sirius groaned and struggled not to push into her, breaking his promise and her hymen, at the sensation that was her velvet tongue against his digit. Instantly, his mind wandered to what else her delicious mouth might be wrapped around.

The experience was over as quickly as it had begun, however, and Hermione led his now very wet finger between her legs to the apex of her thighs, where she placed his thumb against that little bud that had brought forth her pleasure so often these past nights. Taking his cue, Sirius rubbed her button in little circles, drawing out moans and sighs from the lovely witch beneath him. He did his best to ignore the fluttering in her walls that accompanied her rising pleasure, but when she climaxed and clamped around his aching cock, it was almost too much. As soon as she had come, she shoved him away.

"Thanks," she merely said, as if he had just handed her the sugar over tea. "Good night, Sirius."

And with that, she curled into her favourite position, beckoning him to come spoon her as usual. Knowing that with his denied release, sleep would be denied to him as well, Sirius lay down beside her and pulled her into his chest, her bum the perfect resting place for his restless member. And thus, with his own needs primed, yet no nearer to fruition, he spent the next few hours watching the sun rise over the contentedly sleeping witch beside him.

* * *

The next day found him understandably grumpy. He was looking forward to settling down in the library with a nice tumbler of firewhiskey all day. Hermione was already curled in her usual chair, a thick tome resting on her naked thighs, and did not even reward him with a glance as he sat down on the armchair opposite her. His denied release from the night before, combined with the cold shoulder she was apparently showing him for whatever reason, prompted him to drink even more than he usually would. When Remus joined them half an hour later, Sirius was nursing his third drink.

"You know, Padfoot, old boy," Remus chuckled when he found the bottle of Old Odgen's half empty, "your drinking will kill you before any of Voldemort's followers get a chance at doing that."

"Oh shut it, Moony," Sirius countered, and gestured at the glass that Remus had poured for himself. "It's not like you're abstaining from Old Odgen's company, either."

"Remus knows how to pace himself, though," the voice he had so longed to hear before now chimed up. "He knows that whiskey is traditionally measured in fingers, not in feet, like you do. How many of those have you had tonight? Six?"

Remus looked taken aback at Hermione's not-so-playful banter. Sirius, however, was incensed.

"Six feet sounds like the _perfect_ amount of firewhiskey to me," he shot back. "This way at least I can choose how to go, rather than giving some random Death Eater the satisfaction of offing me. And with firewhiskey, there's no need for me to pace myself. Firewhiskey won't stop me at two inches deep in; it will encourage me to go _all the way."_

"Suit yourself," was his kitten's acid reply, before she left the library with a huff and a banging of the door.

"What in seven hells was that?" Remus asked, incredulous.

Sirius did not answer him. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and generously topped off his tumbler.

* * *

 _ **You know,**_

 _ **You got a willing slave,**_

 _ **And you just love to play the thought**_

 _ **That you might misbehave.**_

 _ **But till you do,**_

 _ **I'm telling you**_

 _ **Stop visiting my grave,**_

 _ **And let me rest in peace.**_

* * *

Hermione continued her nightly visits to Sirius's room, though she never asked him to enter her again. Sirius felt himself torn apart with that change; he was glad to be rid of the torture that was her magnificent cunt around his cock, but missed that feeling of coming home that engulfed him inside her welcoming sheath.

When Hermione allowed him to go down on her, Sirius jumped at the opportunity like a starved man offered a banquet. He became addicted to her heavenly nectar at the first taste, and would lick at the well of his private ambrosia until Hermione screamed her lust, again and again, and shoved him away when it became too much for her.

His nights much improved this way, Sirius became bold during daylight, as well.

It was a few days after she'd first allowed him his first taste of heaven, and two weeks until the kids and Hermione (for he could never bring himself to think of her as a child again, and did not want to in the least) had to take the train to Hogwarts, that he found her in the library. Molly was out for the day, and with no one forcing them, cleaning became a rather low priority for everybody involved.

Sirius was looking for a quiet spot, where the twins would not badger him for stories from his wild youth, and since Harry was busy talking with Ron and Ginny at the moment, Sirius did not need to be there for him either. In hindsight, he should have known that he would find his little witch in the library. Then again, maybe he _had_ known, but had pushed the thought so deep into his subconscious that he could pretend it was a coincidence that he met her there.

He had to wander deep into the rows of shelves until he 'happened upon her'. She was engrossed in a selection on the changes in wizarding law over the centuries, far into the library at a small window. She did not turn towards him, not even when he put his hand on her hips, pulled her bum to his groin, and buried his nose in her curls to breathe in the scent that was so entirely _her._ She only acknowledged his presence when his hand slipped underneath the waistband of her skirt to slide his fingers through her folds.

"Sirius," she sighed, though it was not the pleasured moan he had been aiming for, but rather an exhausted sign of her annoyance with him, "I don't have time for this."

"What are you talking about, kitten," he asked. "It's the summer holidays. When do you have any more time on your hands than during the summer hols?"

"Exactly," she agreed. "That is why I intend to study as much as I can _now_ , before I don't have the time for it anymore."

Sirius chuckled.

"How is," he closed the book in her hands with the one of his that was not buried inside her dripping core, " _'International Trading Law in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century'_ relevant to your course work this year?"

"It's not," she replied, and moaned as Sirius worked a second finger into her tight sheath, "but I need to read up on this for –"

Her words were cut off as her breath hitched when Sirius's thumb met her clit.

"I don't care, kitten," Sirius whispered into her hair. "You know that I love your brilliant mind, and I would love to hear your big plans for the future, but right now, _I don't care_. I just want to bury myself inside you and shut up that lovely little mouth of yours."

"Do you now?" Hermione breathed, but fell silent for a few minutes as his fingers worked their magic on her. Sirius extracted the book from her hands and shoved it into some open slot on the shelf in front of them. His little witch made to protest, but a firm rub of his thumb across her pleasure nub silenced her. He grabbed both her hands in one of his and raised them to one of the higher shelves, for her to hold on to. When he was certain that she would not let go of the shelf any time soon, he used that same hand to push up her skirt, until her arse, almost fully naked as she wore a thong today, came into sight. He then pulled her more firmly into him, her lower cheeks cupping his massive jeans-clad hard-on, while his other hand brought her to orgasm.

While she slowly came down from her high, they both stood leaned against the shelf; her trying to catch her breath, him gently continuing to massage her inner walls, now highly sensitized.

"Sirius," she asked when the rush from her climax had abated to a degree where she could again appreciate the attention he was still bestowing on her cunt.

A hum signalling that he was listening was her only answer.

"Why do you call me _'kitten'_?"

Sirius chuckled into her wild mane.

"Because you are, love," he replied. "You are a fierce lioness of House Gryffindor, and I just want to stroke your sweet pussy all day long."

"Is that so," she mused, and he pinched her clit in agreement, but she wasn't finished. "And is this what you had in mind when you said you wanted to bury yourself in me and shut me up?"

Sirius could practically hear the air quotes that she could not quite mime, as she was still clinging to the book shelf.

"Not quite," he answered with more than a hint of frustration in his voice, then amended, "But it's close."

"Well," his little witch drawled, and Sirius could vividly imagine the look of mischief that must have run over her face just then, "why don't you come closer then?"

And with those words, she took the initiative for the first time. One of her hands left the shelf and insinuated itself between their bodies, cupping his erection over his jeans and stroking it firmly. It was now Sirius who had to grip the book shelf for support.

He could not believe his eyes when his little witch turned around between his torso and the books, shot him one of those secret smiles that he fancied to be his and his alone, and lowered herself to her knees. His eyes closed in pleasure, just as his mouth fell open to emit a loud groan, when her cheek rubbed against his bulge.

"What –" Sirius began to speak, but found himself cut off by another rub. "Kitten, what are you doing?"

"I'm giving head," came the innocent reply. "That's what kittens do, isn't it? They rub their head against people they perceive to be theirs."

"And am I yours?" Sirius asked.

A chuckle rose from the head that was still rubbing against his groin.

"Are you not?" she countered.

 _Yes, I am,_ Sirius sighed inwardly, but found it unnecessary to answer her out loud. His little witch was very well aware that she had him wrapped around her little finger, after all. Instead, he chose to voice another thought.

"You know, love," he hesitantly said, "it's not that I don't like your technique or anything, but that's not quite the usual way to give head."

"You want me to be your kitten, Sirius," she countered, "then this is exactly the correct way for me to give you head."

Sirius could find no fault with her reasoning, though maybe that was because in that very instant, while she was still speaking, Hermione's open mouth grazed his bulge, and even through the thick fabric of his jeans, the mere implication of what she might do were he naked, and were she more _open_ to him in every sense of the word, was enough to send him over the edge.

One of his hands came down to rest in her curls, not daring to grip her head as he wanted to, and pulled gently at the strands in the nape of her neck, which gave her little shivers of pleasure and him some semblance of control over the movement of her head.

The beautiful moment lasted for only a second.

A loud sound of deep disgust came from the mouth of the little minx kneeling in front of him, and with a jerk she had freed her head from his stroking fingers, and rose to a standing position that was not between his arms and the book shelf any more, much to Sirius's regret.

"What the hell, Sirius," she shouted.

Before he could become completely dumbfounded by her sudden change in demeanour, Sirius managed to cast a Silencing charm on the library, lest they attract unwanted attention, because honestly, any attention they might attract was entirely unwanted.

"What did you do that for?" Hermione shouted her accusation.

"What, the Silencing charm?" Sirius questioned. "Well, I thought –"

"Not the bloody charm," his little witch interrupted, her voice still at a volume well above anything suited for polite conversation. "Why did you – why – Why did you _come_?"

That, he had not expected.

"Why did I – What do you mean, why did I come?" he asked. "You give me head and are upset that you made me come? I make you come all the time, it's only natural that at some point you make me come as well."

"Natural?" she raged. "There's nothing natural about _this,"_ and she gestured wildly between the two of them. "I come to you for guidance, for support, for education, and you go and completely abuse my trust. You are nothing more but a lecherous old man, Sirius Black."

"Now wait just one minute, kitten," Sirius said, his voice now more than hinting at the rage that had begun to boil inside him at her words. " _You_ came to _me_ , and asked to sleep in my bed, night after night, for these past five weeks. You cannot continuously display your delicious charms to me, and dangle pleasure in front of my eyes without ever granting me completion, and _still_ expect me to not take a bite when I get the chance. You are a fucking _tease_ , and playing with a grown man may have proven a little too much for you, but _you_ chose to play with _me_ , and now we will finish this game."

And without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode out of the library, for once being the one to walk out on her.


	3. Man Possessed

_A/N: So this was supposed to be the last chapter to "Rest in Peace", but it got a little out of hand. I had only gotten about halfway through my ideas for the lyrics of the bridge when I thought that maybe this was a good point to divide the content into two chapters. So this chapter got quite long and deals only with less than half of the bridge. Happy news, there will be at least one, more likely two more chapters to this story! Please don't be cross with me for this chapter not being the end. I'm not attempting to artificially stretch this story; there's just so much I still want to fit in. :)  
_

* * *

 _I'm telling you_

 _Stop visiting my grave,_

 _And let me rest in peace._

 _ **I know I should go,**_

 _ **But I follow you like a man possessed.**_

 _There's a traitor here beneath my breast,_

 _And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed._

 _If my heart could beat, it would break my chest –_

 _But I can see you're unimpressed;_

 _So leave me be, and…_

* * *

That night, when Sirius came to the library, it wasn't to find Hermione curled up in her usual armchair. Instead, she sat on the sofa, her back leant against the armrest, her slender legs, deliciously long on her petite figure, stretched out along the seating. Sirius poured himself a drink and fell into the armchair by the fire, watching his little witch from beneath his hooded eyes. Eventually, she trembled, whether from his gaze or from the cold, sitting too far from the fireplace to benefit from its warmth, he could not say.

Nor could he find it within himself to care.

In a second, he had sat his tumbler down on the little side table and placed himself on the sofa at her feet, with his chest turned towards her. Surprised, she looked up at him. Her expression was guarded, as if uncertain what to expect. After his harsh words that afternoon, that was hardly surprising.

Sirius gently lifted her feet into his lap. They were indeed quite cold, and he took it upon himself – ever the gentleman – to rub the warmth back into them. Scarcely clothed as Hermione was, her miniscule shorts ever present, he found her calves cold to the touch as well, and continued to massage them. Apparently careful not to upset him, his little witch paid him the compliment of actually shutting her heavy tome for the evening and putting it to the side in order to fully concentrate on the attention he was heaping on her.

When Sirius had rubbed his way far enough upwards to have reached her upper legs, he knelt on the sofa and grabbed Hermione's thighs just above the knees, pulling her further towards him, until she lay fully on the seating instead of just leaning against the armrest. She gasped in surprise, and once more in pleasure right after that, as he began to massage her inner thighs, rubbing small circles into her soft skin. Interrupting his caresses for a moment, Sirius took the time to ward the library against intruders and Silenced the room for good measure.

The higher his hands wandered, the more Hermione's legs fell open to facilitate his access. When his fingertips brushed against her shorts, an anticipative moan fell from the lips of the little witch beneath him. A smug smile on his lips, Sirius tugged her shorts off her legs, removing her knickers in the same movement, threw them carelessly somewhere over his shoulder, and left her legs resting on his shoulders on either side of his head. Turning his face towards her left foot, he began to pepper it in soft, open-mouthed kisses that wandered further up her leg.

Her moans, now a constant, were the music accompanying their little tryst atop the library sofa. Sirius revelled in the soft noises he drew forth from his little witch, his ego generously stroked by the fact that he was still able to evoke lust in a young, desirable witch such as Hermione. That he could give pleasure after having lived devoid of any positive emotion for so long lifted his heart, and he felt younger by the years taken from him.

Resting her right leg atop the back of the sofa, Sirius lowered his body between her legs, now kissing his way up her left inner thigh until he reached her sweet folds and bent down to drink her nectar. His tongue dipped into her entrance, as deep as he could go, then wandered along her seam. It began a swift staccato of strokes against her clit, licking and lapping at the nub until Hermione's constantly rising wave of pleasure broke over her, drenching him in the juices of her shattering climax.

Sirius did not let her relax from her orgasm, however. Two of his fingers entered her core, pumping in much the same rhythm as his tongue had attended to her clit before. He lifted himself up along her body, until he leaned onto an elbow above her, his head bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Marry me, Hermione," he proposed imploringly.

"No," came her simple reply, surprisingly calm in between her climax from less than a minute ago, and his current attentions to her burning-hot centre.

"Why not?"

"I don't love you."

"You will," Sirius said. "Let me make love to you, kitten, and you will come to love me."

His little witch chuckled. It was that derisive chuckle that Sirius had come to hate above anything and everything else in this world.

"Is that your idea of romance, Sirius?" she asked, though it sounded more like a snort. "Sleep with me and have me fall in love with your… manhood?"

Sirius did his best to ignore that the young woman beneath him was apparently not mature enough to use harsher words for what she wanted to say.

"Of course I don't expect you to fall in love with my _cock_ , kitten," he said, putting emphasis on what she had been unable to say before, but speaking as if the idea alone was distasteful to him, and truly, it was. "I merely meant to say that if you allow me to shower you with my love in all the ways known to me, you will not help but love me yourself.

"As for sleeping with me," Sirius continued, his fingers' movements in her tight cunt never wavering, "you _are_ sleeping with me every night. That is not enough for me, as you must certainly know. I want to make love to you, want to claim you and make you mine."

"You see, Sirius, that's exactly my point," Hermione countered. "You just want to marry me to have sex with me, nothing more. That is not what I want from marriage."

Sirius was taken aback by her accusation, but did not once falter in his attentions to her centre when he answered.

"You are being unfair, kitten," he said. "I want to marry you because you are the most brilliant witch that I have ever met. You are highly intelligent, determined, out-spoken, loyal, caring, beautiful, quick with a wand, and have a power to you that goes beyond magic. I would be honoured to call you my wife. I would offer you my name and heritage, make you matriarch to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. After the war, the world will be yours for the taking with your character and achievements alone, but with the Black name, obstacles will fall to dust at your feet. My family is the closest thing to royalty there is in Western Europe, and I would make you my queen. I wish to love and uphold you, honour you and support you with everything I have to give – which, quite frankly, is more than most men have at their disposal –, for the rest of my life. What else is there that you want from marriage?"

Hermione did not answer him, though that was probably his own fault. His fingers were still pistoning in and out of her cunt, desperate to give her pleasure beyond her imagination. An ecstatic cry filled the library when she tumbled over the edge, her orgasm torn from her lips, then ebbing out in a litany of softening moans, until all that could be heard was her heavy breathing from her heaving chest. Sirius sat back on his heels to watch Hermione come down from her climax, but found that he had to tear his eyes away from her rapidly moving breasts as she struggled to calm her breathing; too difficult had it been not to come when she did, remembering her disgust from earlier that day, to tempt himself with his perusal of her soft mounds.

After a few minutes, the library fell silent. Then –

"No."

Sirius closed his eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to rise and spill at her calm dismissal of his heartfelt proposal.

"You know I could force you," he offered, though his voice held none of the conviction that his words sought to convey. Instead, his tone was as hollow as he felt. "Wizarding law is quite far behind in that aspect, or traditional as others might call it. I could just take you as my wife without asking and nobody would bat an eye. Hell," he chuckled darkly and without mirth, "I could just _take_ you, marriage be damned, and would be perfectly within my rights as a Pureblood."

To his horror, Hermione chuckled as well, though the tone sounded honestly amused.

"No, you couldn't," she said. Seeing that he was about to disagree with her, she continued, "Yes, the law is on your side in this, but _you_ couldn't do that. You are right that few people would bat an eye, but those few matter to you."

She raised her hand to count people on her fingers, though her eyes never left his. Her gaze was so cold it made Sirius shiver. He felt a severe sense of foreboding, instinctively knowing that he would not like what she had to say.

"Just think about it," Hermione raised her index finger. "Molly – she and Arthur had to try for a daughter for so long, and she already thinks so little of you. She'll just _love_ to see you trapping a minor witch into marriage against her will, a girl that she has seen grow up over the summers at the Burrow nonetheless.

"Dumbledore –" her middle finger came up to join the index, "– the first authority figure in your life that actually saw some value in your person. What will he think when you violate his top student?

"Remus –" and there went her ring finger, "– your only living friend. He just found new trust in you after believing you a traitor for years; and there you go again, forcing yourself on the best friend of your dead best friend's orphan son.

"Oh, and of course, Harry!" Her little finger jumped to attention with a disturbingly triumphant air. "Who do you think he will stand by – the godfather that popped up out of thin air, hoping to gain some relationship with him, and who could be gone just the same way, in the blink of an eye? Or will he choose to stand by his best friend, the only one who has stood by his side since Day One, through the worst of times, when even Ron abandoned him?

"No, Sirius," Hermione concluded with that derisive laugh of hers, " _you_ could _never_ force me into marrying you."

When she made to get up, she did not even hurry to leave his presence. She did not have to, of course, as Sirius sat in shock at her harsh words, too stunned to move a single muscle. Inwardly, he trembled at the bitter truth of her little speech. What hit him the most, however, was the cold hauteur in which she had delivered it. With the deftness of her brilliant mind, she had managed to push all the buttons to his insecurity, pulling all the right strings and cutting them away with deadly precision until none of them held him up anymore, and he crumbled like the marionette that he was in her hands.

In an unhurried manner, Hermione collected her knickers and shorts that Sirius had thrown halfway across the library in his haste to get them off of her, and put them back on equally slowly. Languorously she walked to the door. When her hand met the door knob, Sirius finally found his voice.

"Hermione," he spoke, and something in his tone must have caught her attention, for she stopped to listen. "Don't come to my room tonight."

Hermione turned around, an indulgent smile on her lips.

"Don't worry, Sirius," she said. "I won't."

* * *

When Remus joined him later, Sirius used his best friend's company to distract himself from his terrible fallout with Hermione. Between the two of them, they managed to empty a newly opened bottle of Old Odgen's, sitting together until well after midnight, before Remus concluded that he should be off to bed. Sirius reluctantly agreed and made his way up to his room. He dreaded going to his empty bed, far too big without his little witch in it. He knew that without the warmth of her young nubile body closely snuggled into his own, he would be hard-pressed to find any sleep. On the other hand, without her cold, heart-crushing demeanour towards him, he might in time find some peace of mind, and if nothing else, he thought it wise in the long run to keep his wits together for Harry.

Sirius had only just closed the door to his room, divesting himself of his shirt that had become too hot from the heat that Old Odgen's had instilled in him, when there was a knock. Thinking that Remus was probably too drunk to Apparate and had decided to sleep at headquarters, Sirius made his way the across the room.

"What now, Moony," he called in a mocking voice as he opened the door, "too drunk to transfigure yourself a nice pillow for your oh-so-tender neck?"

His laugh died in his throat as the opened door revealed a certain young witch standing in front of his room.

"Good night, Sirius," Hermione greeted with her knowing smile. "Mind if I come in?"

For once, her smile had no effect on him. Sirius's frame filled and effectively blocked the doorway as she tried to push past him, so certain of her welcome.

"Yes, in fact I do mind, Hermione," he growled. "I believe I told you not to come tonight."

Her laugh was a bell-like tinkle.

"Oh, that," she dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, "that's water under the bridge, don't you think? Besides, it's past midnight, so technically it's not 'tonight' anymore."

Sirius's mouth fell open in disbelief. How could she just wave off his very real hurt from earlier? Had she lost all grasp on reality now?

"As for the _coming_ part," his little witch pressed on, "you got me used to a daily quota of three climaxes, and I only came twice yesterday. That means you owe me one."

And with those words, she easily pushed past a completely baffled Sirius, who snapped out of his incredulity only after she had sauntered across the room and snuggled into his bed.

" _I owe you one?"_ Sirius hollowly echoed, still not quite certain what it was that was happening right then. "Hermione, I owe you _nothing_. Surely you can take care of your need for an orgasm yourself?"

"But that's just it, Sirius," she almost whined. "I _can't_. You make me _fly_ , and it's the most amazing feeling, truly. By myself, it's just not enough. Whenever I try, it feels like… I feel like a feather – I can float a little, but I can't take flight. Not like with you. You've thoroughly spoiled me, Mister Black," she added with a wink.

"Oh yes, you're quite the spoilt little tease, now, aren't you," Sirius spat out bitterly, though Hermione did not seem to mind his tone. In fact, she didn't even so much as flinch. It was as if his words had simply not quite registered with her.

Just then, however, _her_ words registered with _him,_ and Sirius had an idea.

"You know, kitten," he said, giving in to her wishes once more, "you wait here and I'll be right back. I'll only be a minute."

And with that, he was gone from the room. Swiftly making his way down the stairs – or as swiftly as a man with his level of blood alcohol was able – Sirius entered the study of Grimmauld Place. Bowing to Buckbeak and stroking the sleepy hippogriff's beak for a moment, he retrieved one of his long feathers that had fallen out. Sirius had quite a collection of those feathers by now, never finding it in his heart to get rid of those beautiful plumes.

Already on the move to leave the study, something on the edge of his vision caught Sirius's eye. On the huge, elaborately carved desk sat the family seal of House Black. Sirius quickly grabbed it and walked out of the room and up the stairs. Still weighing the seal in his hands and perusing the smoothly polished handle, he did not notice Remus until he bumped straight into him.

They both staggered a few steps back, drunk as they were, before the two men caught themselves.

"What in seven hells are you doing with that thing in the middle of the night, Padfoot?" Remus asked with a slight lull to his voice.

"Oh, just the usual, you know," Sirius replied nonchalantly. "Light a fire."

Remus apparently needed two attempts to bring his friend into focus. "With a seal?" he finally managed, once he had sufficiently perused the wooden object in Sirius's hand and realized its form and use. "Why not use magic?"

Sirius chuckled.

"I've found that magic does not always produce quite the heated results that I am aiming for," he explained. "And this isn't just any seal, either. It's my family's seal, and will add a personal touch to the fire I mean to light with it."

"Aaah," Remus answered in drunken revelation. Then he, too, chuckled. "So your fire is about to be Sirius-ly stoked?" A mischievous wink followed the lame and too often used pun.

"Oh yes, indeed," Sirius confirmed with an anticipative smirk. In his mind, he added in the same dull humour, _'My little spitfire is in for some Sirius stoking.'_

Back in his room, Sirius found the witch he had left there minutes ago to be now fully naked. Her glorious body was sprawled atop of his sheets, her shyness to be seen by him completely gone. Sirius took a moment to commit the sight to memory, his quickly hardening member muddling his brain in the process, then warded the room.

"Look, kitten," Sirius said and held up the two items he had retrieved. "I brought you some toys to play with."

Hermione's expression brightened when she saw the feather, but she eyed the seal with distrust.

"Sirius," she said, "that seal bears your family's sigil. I am muggle-born. Are you certain that it is safe for me to play with that?"

"Oh, yes, quite safe," he replied. "As long as you don't bring it into contact with wax, and believe me, kitten, contrary to what you might think, you are not prepared to play with fire."

His tone easily carried the double entendre, and he hoped that Hermione understood his meaning, but she seemed unperturbed by his warning.

"You know, my mum always called me hot-headed," she countered, "and you sure make me feel hot- _blooded,_ as well, so I think I _am_ quite prepared for something more heated."

The older wizard fixed her with an intent gaze.

"If you say so, kitten," he said. "Just keep in mind: if you play with fire, you are going to get burned."

His little witch laughed.

"Burn me, then."

Divesting himself of his clothes as quickly as he could, Sirius climbed onto the bed as naked as the little witch already there, and lay down next to her, leaning onto one elbow to look down on her.

"Now, kitten," he cautioned, "I want you to lie very still during what I've planned for you, do you understand?"

At Hermione's nod, he placed the seal on the bedside table where he could easily reach it, and took the long feather in hand. He drew the gossamer plume along his witch's face, and chuckled as she leaned into the soft touch. The feather wandered down her jaw and dipped into the hollow of her throat, prompting her into soft giggles. When the tip met her right nipple, she gasped, and her back arched into the touch to heighten the sensation. Sirius withdrew the feather at once.

"Now what did I tell you, love," he drawled in his deep voice and saw shivers run down Hermione's flat stomach. "Lie still, or I will have to restrain you."

And back was the plume. It ghosted over her right nipple once more, drew a circle along the areola surrounding it, and caressed the smooth mound beneath, before repeating the actions on her left breast. The young witch uttered throaty sighs now and then, but managed to keep her body mostly motionless.

Wandering lower, Sirius skipped her stomach and began the feather's next journey at Hermione's feet, stroking both calves in turn, and making his way languorously up her shapely legs. They fell open the further his feather wandered, seemingly of their own volition, and by the time the plume met his little witch's wet core, she had been reduced to desperate moans. Sirius caressed her outer lips first, the feather stroking over the soft curls that framed her pink folds, before he lightly touched her clit.

A loud sigh escaped Hermione, and her hips forcefully lifted from the bed as she instinctively sought to increase her contact with the infinitely soft plume. In the blink of an eye, Sirius had her turned over, positioned on her knees and forearms, as his wand conjured strands of silk that wrapped around her wrists and fastened themselves around the posts at the top of the huge bed.

"What the –" Hermione made to protest, but muttered a relieved sigh when Sirius kneeled behind her, his erect cock bobbing up and down between her thighs from his quick movement and thus making contact with her clit.

"I told you not to move, love," Sirius chuckled. "Now you _can't_ move anymore."

His little witch proved him wrong on that account, as she pushed her hips back to have her nub rub over Sirius's erection once more.

"Alright, you can't move _much,_ at least," the wizard conceded. "Would you like me to pleasure you with my cock instead of the feather, kitten?"

"Yes, please," Hermione moaned her agreement. "But be careful, don't –"

"Don't damage your hymen, I know, I know, love," Sirius waved her concerns off. "Don't worry, kitten, I'm not going to desecrate you. I'll take very good care of you."

And with those words, he slapped his cock against her folds a few times, the head hitting her little pleasure button with precision, before he carefully slipped into her heated core, making certain that he stayed clear of her maidenhead. They both groaned at the sensation of his hard length filling her wet entrance. Sirius stilled for a moment, revelling in the feeling of his tight young witch wrapped around his raging hard member. He used the pause in movement to pick up the feather that he had discarded in his haste to tie Hermione to his bed. He also leaned over to grab his family seal.

"Now, kitten," he whispered, "remember, I brought you some toys. How about we play with them?"

He stroked the hippogriff feather along Hermione's spine at the question. The sensation ripped a highly erotic moan from her lips that Sirius decided to interpret as a Yes. A quick few charms had the seal better suited to his needs. The handle slimmed and the heavy gold sigil used to press into wax was diminished from a diameter of a generous five inches to slightly less than two. Sirius had worked his personal brand of magic on enough women in his youth to still remember a lubrication charm as well. The smooth wooden handle of the seal well moistened, Sirius discarded the feather for a second and reached around and between Hermione's legs to rub over her clit. When she relaxed into the pleasurable feeling, he used the opportunity to slip the handle through the puckered rosette into her bum. He found that he had shaped it into a sufficient replica of a butt-plug, as had been his plan, and let go to see if it worked as one, as well. It did.

Hermione, however, was incensed.

"What the hell, Sirius," she raged once more, much as she had mere hours ago in the library when he had not-so-surprisingly come. "Take that out _this instant!"_

"I don't think so, kitten," Sirius returned calmly. "You wanted to play with your toys, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Now," he asked, "does it hurt?"

Hermione's hips wiggled this way and that, trying to wriggle away from the seal lodged firmly in her bum, but whichever direction she moved, she could not get free of it. Sirius had to grab her hips and still them before he erupted into her tight core, as her movements had quite the effect on his cock still buried in her wet folds.

Eventually, Hermione gave up and instead gave some thought to Sirius's question.

"It feels weird," she complained. "It doesn't belong there, take it out, _please."_

"But does it hurt, kitten?" Sirius pressed on.

"Not really," his little witch replied.

"Then how about you let me see if I can't make you enjoy this, hmm?"

"You won't," she mumbled, but did not ask him to remove the seal again.

Sirius picked up the feather and used it to stroke along Hermione's spine once more. Her arms seemed to buckle under the pleasant feeling, but since her silken bonds already had her resting on her forearms, Hermione did not fall. Repeating the movement, Sirius's feathery caress drew an extended moan from his little witch.

The handle of his family seal enlarged itself.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Sirius had cast a third charm on the seal. It was quite a complicated bit of magic, and had she been a mere bystander, she certainly would have been impressed with the complexity and intricacy behind it. As it was, Sirius found her distressed at the realization that her every sound activated the charm to engorge the seal's handle.

"Take it out, Sirius," she begged once more, and moaned again as the handle reacted to her voice.

"How about _no_ , kitten," Sirius chuckled. "Maybe this will teach you to restrain yourself a little. After all, all you need to do is keep your delectable little sighs to a minimum. Surely you can do that?"

A rub of his hand around her clit had Hermione's walls clench around the head of his cock, and her lips emitted a throaty groan. Through the thin wall between her two entrances, Sirius felt the handle swell.

What came then was a little like patting oneself on the head with one hand while rubbing circles on one's belly with the other. Sirius caressed Hermione's smooth back with the feather, causing her to arch into his feathery touch, while also attending to that little nub at the apex of her thighs. All the while, he had to struggle hard not to push into the young witch's velvety core as he felt her walls clench around his hard manhood, combined with the tightening of her already tight sleeve as the handle swelled with each and every one of her lustful sighs.

In the end, it took one particular twisting motion from his hand at her clit to have Hermione tumble over the edge. Her dripping muscles contracted around Sirius's cock, and she released the most heart-felt moan he ever heard from her lips. Sirius dropped the feather to pick up his wand, cancelling the Engorgement charm on his family seal. By now, the handle had swelled to a significant size, almost resembling a mediocre cock in its girth.

As his little witch calmed down, Sirius chose to inform her of his plans for the rest of the night.

"So you said that you intended to save your maidenhood for your future husband." Plucking at the seal, Sirius gripped the gold bottom and slowly pulled it out. Hermione groaned as the spindle-shaped handle moved outwards past her puckered hole, widening to a respectable girth at its thickest. When it thinned again and was finally fully removed, the young witch released an exhausted sigh of relief.

"But you know, kitten, there are several ways to show a guest around your home while your husband is out."

Hermione turned her head to the side, too tightly restrained to fully turn and look Sirius in the eye, but he caught her riddled expression and the question that came with it.

"Now, you can let him have a look around your _entrance area_ , but that's not really enough for him to get a satisfactory impression of your home, now, is it?" Sirius elaborated, still caught up in his metaphor. "You could also issue an _oral invitation_ , but it seems that you are reluctant to do so. That really leaves only one other possibility." He paused for effect. "You could show him in through the _backdoor."_

It appeared the essence of his words was lost on the little witch beneath him, her walls still wrapped around the tip of his cock. Sirius sighed, and made to try and explain another way.

"Now, love, you said that you came to me for _'guidance, support, and education'_ ," he quoted her words from the day before, when she had snapped at him for climaxing, "and I think I am making quite a good job of it." When she scoffed, he amended, "Alright, maybe with some exceptions.

"But you know, I _support_ your endeavour to learn how to please your future husband while remaining pure for him," Sirius said. "So I will _guide_ myself in through your backdoor," he withdrew his cock from her pussy and placed it at another entrance, a little higher, "and _educate_ you on the science of anal sex."

And before his words could register with the surprised witch, he pressed forward, easily slipping through her prepared muscle, still accustomed to a foreign body lodged inside, and pushing half of his length into her before her instinct kicked in and she clenched, effectively stopping his forward movement.

"Sirius," Hermione cried, panicked, "Sirius, pull it out!"

She struggled to get away from him, but Sirius was having none of that. His large hands easily gripped her slender hips and held the little witch firmly in place.

"Sirius," she tried again, apparently attempting to infuse some threat into her voice, "pull it out, _now,_ or I will tell everybody."

The older wizard merely chuckled.

"No, you won't," he said, using her surprise at his words to further push into her tight bum, his cock nicely lubricated by her own juices, until he bottomed out with a contented groan. "And for several reasons. First of all, it's far too embarrassing have one's delicious little bum buggered, and you don't want everybody to know about that, now, do you?"

Pulling back, Sirius relished the feeling of her tight muscle sliding along his hard length, and he released a throaty moan before pushing firmly back into her.

"Secondly, who would believe you? You've been running around in very little clothing all summer, obviously more desperate for attention than ever before, and everyone accounts it to puberty. Really, it's only gotten worse since Harry got here, stealing your show with his drama, and you've generously upped the ante on your pushy, know-it-all behaviour since then. So they will think that your little story of how _'big bad Padfoot'_ robbed your delectable behind of its virginity is just one more attempt at grabbing all the attention."

Sirius quickly settled into a smooth rhythm, leisurely withdrawing from his little witch's magnificent bum and pounding quickly right back in, his heavy sack slapping against her wet core with a resounding smack each time. He never wavered in his movements as he dispelled Hermione's expectations of other people's reactions to her tale.

"Thirdly, think of all the people that you would want to tell. Think them through singularly, one by one. Molly and Albus, for example; they won't believe a word you say. They both have handled too many pubescent teenagers to take every ludicrous story at face value, and since I will make sure to leave no trace of our little tryst here, they will find no proof to support your story.

"Remus, now he still feels so guilty at believing me a mass murderer for so many years and completely misjudging me, that you could hand him as much proof as you want; he will always take my side in any accusation voiced against me.

"And lastly, of course, Harry. You were right, in the beginning, that first night with me after Harry had come to headquarters. You said that the boys were too young to understand, and truly, they are. Harry would comfort you in your distress, but he would not be able to grasp the magnitude of your accusation against me. He does not understand sex as something grand, and it matters little whether he would believe you or not.

"The concept of me taking pleasure from your body would be too abstract for him to wrap his head around. A forced life-long marriage he would understand and abhor, yes, but one short tumble between the sheets? That is quite beyond him for now. And by the time he does understand sex as you and I do, he will be at an age where every tryst is a conquest to be celebrated, and he will probably clap me on the back for scoring your uptight little ass. At least I will be able to confirm with him that there is, in fact, no stick lodged up there – merely a very large cock."

And with his speech done, Sirius accelerated his thrusts into Hermione's bum, riding her like a man possessed, slipping one hand between her legs and rubbing her clit in rhythm with his harsh pounding. He could still feel her struggle against him and relished her fiery spirit, but it was no use against his expert fingers. Words of love fell from his lips as he neared his climax. When Hermione came undone around his already primed cock, he managed to ride out the height of her orgasm, but soon had to pull out in order to spurt his seed over the smooth curve of her arched back.

He fell down onto the bed next to her, stretching out along her nubile body and rubbing his seed into her skin in wide circles. He took some minutes to merely revel in her presence in his bed, and to catch his breath. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he leaned close to Hermione's ear, her face turned away from him, and whispered, "I love you, kitten."

"No, you don't," came the bitter reply in a small voice that more than hinted at fear. "You are obsessed with me, maybe. You are a maniac, Sirius Black, and I only want to get as far away from you as possible."

Slowly, her words pulled Sirius out of his post-orgasmic bliss. He looked up to where her arms were still spread to either side of her head, and noticed the abrasions on her wrists where she had obviously fought against her silken chains.

"Oh no, love," Sirius uttered, shocked into a feeling of dread, "I did not mean to – I never – Did I hurt you?"

"Just let me go," Hermione half-shouted, half-begged, and tugged at her restraints once more. "Please," she sobbed, defeated, when her ties did not give.

"I'm sorry, love," he said. "It seems I got a little rough, but you seemed to like it at first, and then I guess I got a little carried away, but –"

"Sirius, _please,"_ his little witch begged.

"Of course," Sirius mumbled, reaching for his wand, "just let me…"

And with a quick wave, he had cleaned his cum from her skin, soothed the pain in her ravished bum, and healed her red wrists. Another flick of his wand Vanished the silk strands that tied her to his bed. Attempting to draw his little witch into a loving embrace, he was hurt when Hermione fought him tooth and nail until he let her go, lest she cause herself further harm.

"What did you do that for?" she raged, though her eyes were still wide with fear. She backed away from him until she stood against a wall. "Why did you heal me?"

Sirius was completely perplexed, both by her frightened expression and by her accusing tone.

"I did not want you to hurt, love," he said. "I didn't want you in pain."

"Don't call me that," Hermione snapped. "You don't love me, you _monster_."

Quickly retrieving all her clothes from where she had placed them when Sirius had left the room, Hermione moved about the room like a frightened animal in the presence of her predator, skittish, her gaze never leaving his frame, though her eyes didn't meet his. When she had her back against the door and a hand on the knob, she spoke.

"Never touch me again, Sirius Black. Never talk to me again, and never even _look_ at me again. Do you understand? I don't want anything to do with you. You've ruined _everything."_

And with a final barely suppressed sob, she opened the door and was gone from him once more.


	4. Witch Unimpressed

_A/N: I know, folks, I know, I haven't updated this in an awfully long while, and for that I apologize. As it happens so often, life got in the way of things._

 _Now, let me just say that I do not, in any way, condone rape or other forms of sexual abuse. Please keep in mind that we are hearing this story from the perspective of a broken man who, during his stay in Azkaban, aged but did not mature, and is now socially inept due to his long absence from human and especially humane contact. As it is, he is now desperate for emotional and physical attention from the witch he believes himself in love with._

 _So just remember, this story comes from a very subjective and selective point of view, with many aspects missing in the overall picture. This story does not represent the opinion or values of the author - that is, me._

 _Most issues that were expressed in reviews I discussed with the reviewers via PM, and I hope that anybody who still takes issue or finds any problems with this story will come forward so that I may address those. As it is, a huge hole in argumentation was pointed out to me that I hope this chapter and the following one will deal with to the reviewers satisfaction. I did my best to fix it._

 _Lastly, some characters may appear out of character in this chapter and will probably not meet your expectations of them. But remember, everybody we get to know from JKR's universe we see only through their interaction with Harry. So we don't know how they might act, let's say, with close friends after working hours. ;) Also, the kitchen conversation may appear to go in circles, not really leading anywhere, but in my experience, that's exactly what happens when two people are persistent in their individual opinions and unwilling to see the other's point._

 _Another chapter will follow after this, and it will hopefully be the last as I plan to wrap up any and all loose ends then._

 _But now I should really let you get on with it. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _I know I should go,_

 _But I follow you like a man possessed._

 _ **There's a traitor here beneath my breast.**_

 _ **And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed.**_

* * *

For once, Hermione stayed true to her word and did not turn up at Sirius's room again for well over a week. Sirius tried to busy himself with keeping Harry company, even going so far as to throw himself into cleaning, so long as it kept his thoughts away from the little witch that had once more distanced herself from him. Every night he spent without her lithe body by his side, the underside of her breasts pressed against his arm wrapped around her torso, his manhood nestled into the crevice of her delectable bum, more coldness crept into his heart, locking away any feelings of warmth that she had brought into his life, and allowing the haunting memories of dark times spent in a grave in the middle of the North Sea back in.

Sirius felt that he was running out of time. September 1st was nearing fast, and with it the day that he would have to let his little witch go to the other end of the country. And so it came that one Friday evening, the last in the month of August, saw Sirius in the library, once more drowning his sorrows in firewhiskey. It was thus that Remus found him.

"Look who the cat dragged in, Padfoot," Remus called from the door. "I brought company."

Sirius perked up but visibly fell back into the armchair and himself when it was only Kingsley who followed Remus into the library.

"Evening, Black," he greeted, "Lupin here invited me to join your little gentleman's club. You don't mind, do you?"

 _You don't mind, do you, Sirius?_

Sirius was transported back to a memory of his little witch, standing in his door, ready to be _cuddled_. Of course, that was before his (third) rejected marriage proposal and her visit to his room, only to vanish from his life as much was as possible when one was cooped up in a house together.

Only vaguely did Sirius notice that he was being spoken to. Not quite certain as to what had been said, he merely gestured towards his collected liquors.

"Help yourselves," he offered, and it seemed to be the correct answer as for the next few minutes all that could be heard was the melodious clinking of glass, the soft splashing as liquor was poured into tumblers, and the discussion over who would get the armchair by the fire. Sirius ignored it all.

He was forcibly ripped from his reverie when Remus spoke.

"What have you done to Hermione, Padfoot?" he asked.

Sirius started at the question that he had wondered about himself so often these past days. What _had_ he done to her? Yes, the last time Hermione had been in his room she had left in tears, but really, all that had happened was that they had played a little rough and it had apparently proven too much for her. But would she go crying to Remus?

Cautiously, Sirius allowed Remus to elaborate.

"How do you mean?"

"Well," Remus drawled, "she hasn't joined us here in the library for quite some time, and I know _I_ haven't done anything to her, as far as I am aware, so it must be something that _you_ said that had her stop spending her evenings here with us."

Relieved that no real accusations were laid against him, Sirius went into the offense himself.

"What, Moony," he challenged, "is my company alone not enough for you anymore?"

"Obviously not, Padfoot," Remus chuckled, "else I wouldn't have needed to bring Kingsley along."

The three men laughed together.

"But seriously, Black," Kingsley finally interrupted their mirth, "I must say I'm a little disappointed. Lupin here promised there would be eye candy."

"'Eye candy'?" Sirius queried, confused.

"Muggle expression," Remus explained. "Something… _delicious_ for hungry eyes."

Sirius was taken aback by Remus's explanation. Were they still talking about his little witch?

"Excuse me?" he said.

"Oh come on, Black, don't act all surprised," Kingsley countered. "Surely you're not blind to what a delectable little witch Miss Granger is?"

"I believe it is the shock, Kingsley," Remus said to the auror. "He's known her as a young girl and now has difficulties matching that image of her _then_ with the stunning woman she is _now._ "

"Well, _you_ were the one to teach her for a whole year, Lupin," Kingsley objected, "but that doesn't keep you from ogling her delicious backside whenever she walks around in front of you."

"Oh, that bum," Remus's face took on a wistful expression. "Stairs have become the most common cause of too tight trousers for me. The way her hips sway when she climbs the stairs in front of me…"

"Not only you, my friend," Kingsley agreed, and the two men fell into silence, each of them drawn into their own memories of Hermione Granger's assets.

Hermione Granger. _His_ little witch.

Sirius had allowed his friends' banter to play out for a little while, his gaze switching from one to the other and back again as he followed their conversation like others would a tennis match, and he had grown ever more incensed the longer their talked about _his_ little witch's charms.

"Don't talk about her like that," he pressed out from between tightly gritted teeth.

"Come on, Padfoot," it was Remus's turn to try and placate his friend, "you can't forever ignore the fact that the girl has grown up _a lot_ – and _well_ , if I may add –", Kingsley nodded furiously, "over the past year."

" _Don't talk about her like that!"_ Sirius snarled. His inner dog broke through and a low growl escaped from deep within his throat that finally had the two men opposite him snap from their mirth.

"Sit down, Padfoot," Remus said softly, but not without force. Usually, the quiet man would submit to his best friend, but in situations like these it became quite clear to both of them that the wolf was more powerful than the hound.

Sirius backed down and fell back into the armchair that he had been unaware he had stood up from.

"I'm sorry, Moony, Kingsley," he apologized, "it's just that –"

"It's just _what_ , Black?" Kingsley prompted when Sirius made no move to continue his thought.

"It's just that I –" Sirius had to collect himself once more before he found the courage to finish his sentence. "It's just that… I love her."

Remus gasped as he hadn't done since fourth year, when Sirius had shared his secret of snogging Marlene McKinnon in the second floor broom cabinet.

"Padfoot," he queried, "what happened between you and Hermione?"

Sirius sighed.

"I proposed," he admitted.

"And?" Kingsley asked, when his host made no move to elaborate.

"What do you think, Shacklebolt," Sirius snarled, "she said _No_ , of course, else I wouldn't be here, alone."

"But how did it happen?" Remus pressed on. "How did you fall in love with her?"

Sirius shot him an angry look that quickly morphed into one of profound sadness.

"You don't know how it's been, Moony," Sirius said. "I mean, a large part of me died when James and Lily were murdered, but Azkaban… I would have been better off dead, really. Those years – it was like looking up from one's own grave, waiting for the earth to fall and be buried, and be done with the horror of waiting.

"But then…" His face took on a wistful expression, and only a quiet clearing of Kingsley's throat brought him back to his story. " _She_ came. And before I knew it, I was living for her every smile, her every glance of the eye in my direction, and Moony, I've never been so _alive_ as when I'm with her, and –"

"Hold on for just a second there, Padfoot," Remus interrupted. "What do you mean, _'with her'_? Surely you two haven't…?"

" _She_ came to _me_ ," Sirius offered. "A few nights after she first arrived here, she came to my room in the middle of the night and asked to be held. Night after night she came to my bed, and things somehow progressed from there. It all started out innocent enough, but then she became more and more curious, until –"

"Stop right there, Black," it was Kingsley who interrupted this time. "Please be aware that I am an auror, and as such, I am compelled – both by my profession and by my conscience – to report any crime that comes to my attention. Now, if you choose to continue your tale, keep that in mind, will you?"

"But it's not a crime to be with her," Sirius objected. Then he amended, "not for me, at least."

"Why not for you in particular?" Remus asked. "Because you love her?"

"No, not because of that," Kingsley said, a look of realization now on his face. "She's a Muggle-born, isn't she?"

Sirius merely nodded, then continued.

"Well, there's not much more to say, I guess. I proposed, she said _No_ , but no matter how often she pushed me away, she always came back. One night, she was waiting for me in bed, naked. I warned her that she was not prepared to play with fire, but she said – and I quote: _'Burn me.'_ Long story short, things got a little rough, and now she won't talk to me."

Remus looked confused.

"Didn't you care for her?" he asked. "I thought you were quite the considerate lover."

Kingsley's "And just how would _you_ know that, Lupin?" went ignored by the other two men.

"I did, Moony," Sirius assured, as if the auror had never spoken. "And Merlin, you should have felt it. That sweet little bum, gripping me like a vice –"

"Her bum?" Remus asked, surprised. "That's quite the advanced play, wouldn't you say?"

"I thought so, too, but she wanted to save her innocence until marriage," Sirius explained. "And who am I to stand between a woman and her ideals?"

"So that's why you proposed in the first place?"

" _No,"_ Sirius objected forcefully. "Circe, Moony, why would you say such a thing? I'm in _love_ with that little witch, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," Remus immediately backed down. "It's just that you were quite the playboy before, and to see you now so… so _domesticated_ , it's a little much to take in."

The three men sat in silence for a little while, each lost in their own thoughts as well as their tumblers of Old Odgen's. It was Kingsley who broke the silence.

"Merlin, Black," he chuckled, admiration clearly audible in his voice, "who would have thought that you of all men managed to score Miss Granger's bum."

He stood up and topped off their tumblers, toasting to Sirius as he sat back down.

"Seriously though, Padfoot," Remus said, a look of concern on his face, "Hermione is only fifteen. Are you sure that's not a little – or rather, _much_ – too young?"

Sirius fixed him with a pensive gaze of his own before coming to a decision.

"Tell you what, Moony, Shacklebolt – you two can keep a secret, can't you?" The two men in question nodded, and he continued. "Hermione used a Time Turner in her third year. Technically, it's very well possible that she's been of age this whole time that she's been with me."

"Merlin, Black," Kingsley said, astonished at that revelation, and that was probably what allowed his next words to escape his brain unfiltered, "you make a horrible secret keeper."

Sirius looked at him in shock, so taken aback by the auror's words that the pain that should have come with them did not register at once. Kingsley himself visibly regretted what he had said the moment the words had crossed his lips. Before either man could react to the situation, however, Remus seemed to have completed some mental calculations.

"I don't think so, Padfoot," he said, still talking about Hermione possibly being of age, "she would have had to age over fourteen months in a period of nine months."

"I know, Moony, but Harry said that she had up to three classes in the same period, so it's quite likely that she managed that."

"But that's only the daytime accounted for, Black," Kingsley cut in, following Sirius's lead in ignoring his slip of the tongue, "what about the nights?"

"Well, from what Harry told me, she always takes extra care in her homework," Sirius said, with Remus nodding in agreement from his personal experience with Hermione as a student. "Add that to preparation for the lessons, additional reading into secondary literature, and not to forget sleep – it works."

"No, it doesn't, Padfoot," Remus shook his head. "I don't think you're grasping the magnitude of this. Hermione would have needed to fit at least _sixty hours_ into one day – it's just not possible!"

"Oh, don't say that, Moony," Sirius countered. "You forget we are talking about Hermione Granger here. I understand that it's highly improbable, I really do, but with her determination, everything is possible. _Everything_."

"Alright, alright," the werewolf finally gave in. "But that doesn't change the fact that in the Muggle world, this would constitute rape."

"Well, not in the Wizarding world, Lupin," Kingsley said. "Not with their blood statuses being as they are."

"Also, with as many crimes as I am sought for, Moony," Sirius cut in with a smile, "what difference would one accusation of rape make next to all those murder charges?"

It had been meant in jest, but Kingsley said, "well, maybe it wouldn't make a big difference in front of the Wizengamot, Black, but take care that no such accusations are brought before the leadership of the Order. You might be needed for now, but I don't think Albus would go easy on you in such an issue. Neither would I, for that matter. That girl is well loved, and Morgana help you if you so much as lay a finger on her."

Sirius was shocked. Hermione's words from earlier came tumbling through his mind, from when he had proposed to her on the couch in the library, how everybody would hate him should he ever force himself on her. But he hadn't, really, had he? They had merely played a little rough, maybe a tad too rough for his little witch as Sirius got carried away, but really… She wouldn't misinterpret what had happened between them that night, would she?

Remus had ignored their little dispute, still shaking his head, disgusted, though Sirius knew it wasn't with him but rather with their archaic law system.

"It's barbaric, isn't it," Remus said, "those medieval laws still being upheld in our society today?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Kingsley's ears perked up at Remus's words.

"' _Medieval'_ ," he echoed, "that's a word Miss Granger used, and quite abundantly, if I may say so." At the questioning look on Sirius and Remus's faces, he elaborated, "Miss Granger came to me a few days ago, asking my knowledge about and experience with how a crime of a Pureblood against a Muggle-born would be prosecuted."

"A crime?" Sirius repeated, wary of what Kingsley might reveal. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth, being that it is hard to prosecute a crime in such a constellation of perpetrator and victim in front of the Wizengamot, and that even with incriminating evidence it would be a hard case to win."

"And _did_ she have evidence?" Remus asked the question that Sirius burned to have answered.

"Well, she said that her perpetrator had Vanished all physical evidence of the crime, though she wouldn't say what that was. She seemed deeply upset about that, so I told her that in some cases, memories were admitted as evidence. She perked up at that and said she would read up on that."

"What do you think happened to her?" Sirius asked none of them in particular.

"Not what," Remus said. " _Who_. Harry said that Draco Malfoy was still giving them trouble, especially Hermione. It had been like that when I was still teaching at Hogwarts, and it seems it hasn't changed a bit since."

"Lucius Malfoy's spawn?" Sirius replied to make sure he had understood correctly as everything seemed to click into place in his mind. Of course Hermione wouldn't have talked like that about their night together. She had enjoyed it, after all, if her mind-blowing orgasm around his hard cock in her back entrance was any indication.

"The very same," Remus affirmed.

"Then there is even less we can do about than I thought," Kingsley concluded. "With Lucius Malfoy's influence as it is, the boy is practically untouchable, no matter what the crime or the evidence."

The men sat together in silence for a minute, taking in that revelation. Then, Remus asked, "So what are you going to do about your relationship with Hermione, Padfoot?"

A sad smile formed on Sirius's face, though it spoke of a fierce conviction.

"I am going to shower her with my love, Moony," he promised. "I will wear her down and I will propose to her until she says _Yes_ – or I will die trying."

"Of old age?" Kingsley jested. "That witch seems quite determined in anything she does, so if she decides to make you wait, Black, then wait you will."

"Of old age," Sirius agreed, "or of a broken heart. Whatever which comes first."

* * *

The evening had ended a little later. When he said his goodbyes to the two Marauders, Kingsley had set a deadline for Sirius that incensed the Animagus. The auror vowed that if Sirius had not secured Hermione by the time she left school, he would make his move on her, crudely jesting that he would find out then if her desire for Black men went beyond the family name.

Remus had stayed the night at headquarters and was making breakfast when Sirius entered the kitchen late the next morning. It wasn't as if any of them could really go out and party, but somehow all residents of Grimmauld Place were used to sleeping in on Saturdays. Harry and the Weasley boys were all already seated around the long table, happily munching away on the pancakes that Remus kept steadily coming, frying and flipping away at the stove with a skill that Sirius could never hope to accomplish after a night of emotional drunkenness.

Sirius had just fallen into a chair that Harry had insistently kept vacant just for him and was tucking into his first pancake, when the girls came into the kitchen. Ginny was happy to snap away the pancake that Remus had just finished, so Hermione had to wait for more. Sirius watched her as she made her way over to Remus, grabbed a cup from the shelf diagonally above the stove, and began preparing tea. The kitchen was noisy with five teenagers squabbling over breakfast, but Sirius's hearing was well enhanced due to his Animagus abilities, and he was easily able to follow the conversation Remus started with his little witch.

The werewolf leaned over towards her, so as not to be overheard by the breakfasting crowd, and whispered, "Go to him, Hermione."

Her head shot up, and Sirius could discern the surprise in her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Go to him," Remus insisted, "and whatever you think he has done wrong, forgive him. He is heartbroken."

"Whatever _I_ think –! And _he_ is –? Remus, you have _no_ idea what you are talking about."

Sirius could see that she was desperate to end their conversation, but Remus was not so easily deterred.

"I know that you came to him," he recalled. "I know that you seduced him, and that you left after the deed was done, as if nothing happened, and now he is _heartbroken_."

"As if nothing –? As if –? _Are you completely mad?"_ she raged, though her voice was still hushed, and she had to stop talking as Remus dished out more pancakes to the insatiable crowd. "Remus," she continued imploringly, "he is sick. Please, you have to help him, he is _sick."_

"He isn't sick," Remus objected, "he is _heartbroken_. He _loves_ you. Yes, maybe he got a little rough, but that's only to be expected after going without sex for so long. He simply doesn't know his own strength anymore. But Hermione, he is heartbroken. Because you left without an explanation, and it _broke his heart."_

" _I_ broke his –?" Sirius watched with interest and no little concern as Hermione once more appeared to choke on the words she echoed. "Remus, he _sodomized_ me."

Remus seemed unfazed by the panicked expression gracing the young witch's face, and waved off her apparent distress.

"I know that, but –"

" _He told you that?"_ Hermione asked, her shock bringing her voice to a volume at which Ginny raised her head, but more pancakes from Remus's skilled hand distracted the red-headed witch once more.

"Of course he did," Remus replied, "I am his best friend, so who else would he talk about the love of his life with? He also said," he cut off her objection, "that he did it only to respect your wish to remain pure until marriage."

"Pure?" Hermione raged. "There is nothing _pure_ about me anymore, not after what he has done to me. And believe me, Sirius Black is incapable of love. Remus, please, he is sick. His perception is completely warped, and _you have to help him_ before he destroys himself or anyone else. Please."

Sirius could see that Remus's attempt at a conversation was getting them nowhere, so he rose from his own conversation with Harry and made his way over to the two. When she saw him rise from his seat, however, Hermione went into flight mode.

"I have to go," she muttered, and made to leave the kitchen.

"Oy, 'Mione," Ron called from his place at the table, "what about your pancakes?"

"Thank you, I'm not hungry," she pressed out from between gritted teeth as she backed away from the approaching lord of the house, her eyes never leaving his form but not quite meeting his gaze either.

"So can I –?" the redhead gestured.

"Sure, Ron," Hermione hastened to reply, "help yourself."

And with a whirl of her beautifully short skirt, Sirius's little witch was gone from his presence once more.

* * *

Sirius did not manage to corner Hermione that Saturday. She either stayed clear of everybody, locking herself away in her room, or stuck close to Harry and Ron, knowing as well as Sirius did that his godson would be very outspoken in his confusion and hurt should Sirius ask for a private audience with Hermione in Harry's presence.

When it became clear to him that he would not manage to speak with Hermione in private during her remaining stay at Grimmauld Place, Sirius fell back to plan B: Ginny Weasley.

He caught the redhead alone when the boys had sneaked off to the kitchen in their search for more snacks. Beckoning her over to a corner, his air of secrecy had the young girl's full attention. Nobody lived with six older brothers for long without knowing when somebody had a secret plan.

Without much further ado, he handed her a box.

"Stow that away for me, will you?"

Ginny eyed the box with curiosity written all over her face. It was rectangular and rather long, though flat. She opened it carefully and gasped at the beautiful quill within. It was made from the feather Sirius had teased Hermione with, the one from Buckbeak, and he had Remus have a stunning tip fashioned, of dark smoky silver with elaborate carvings.

Sirius laughed when Ginny reached to take it from the box, and pulled her hand back, stunned by the sharp electricity that ran through her digit.

"It's not for you, I'm afraid," Sirius explained. "I'd be much obliged, however, if you would hand it to Hermione on her birthday, please. Letters may occasionally be sent from headquarters, but anything exceeding a tiny and tightly rolled scroll would be just asking for trouble."

"Sure," Ginny agreed at once, "I'll see that she gets it. But why did you ward it so heavily that I can't even touch it?"

"Well, I can't have you writing love letters to boys other than Harry, now, can I?" Sirius grinned.

"What?" Ginny asked. "How do you –"

"I just _know_ ," Sirius said. Then, with a serious expression, he implored, "he will come around, Ginny, never doubt that. Now, I don't expect you or even _want_ you to wait for that to happen, but please, be there when he does. Alright?"

Ginny sighed, but her face told him everything he needed to know. She would be there, he could tell. Instead of answering, she asked, "Why didn't _I_ get a present from you when it was my birthday a few weeks ago?"

"Oh, come off it, Ginger," Sirius teased, "you got a fun holiday at my house! What more could you possibly want?"

Ginny's shock was palpable, and Sirius had to do his best not to laugh out loud at her stunned expression.

"What?" she asked. " _Cleaning_ is your definition of _fun_?"

Sirius grinned.

"No," he replied cheekily, and winked, "but sarcasm is my definition of humour."

And with an understanding smile, Ginny rushed from the room to stow away Hermione's present, so that the boys wouldn't eat all the snacks before she joined them in the kitchen.

Sirius remained, staring off into nothingness. Ginny possibly writing love letters with the quill was not the only reason nobody except Hermione could take it from the box, he pondered. He only hoped that his little witch would embrace the present that lay hidden beneath.

* * *

Sunday came and went far too fast for Sirius's liking. The morning was hectic as he had rarely experienced it, as everybody was storming and stomping about Grimmauld Place, looking for lost socks, lost books, or lost familiars. Molly Weasley was shouting commands up and down the hall, and Walburga Black accompanied each and every one of those commands with a tirade of insults.

Fortunately for him, in the confusion Sirius managed to escape headquarters with them, in the rugged-looking, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, four-legged, hairy other version of himself. He was happy to breathe some air outside of headquarters once more, even if it was only the dirty metropolitan air of central London. The teenagers giggled as the huge hound chased after pigeons and wove in and out of their legs, sniffing at this hand and that bag, yipping happily at everyone that affectionately stroked him.

The only one not amused by his antics, however, was his little witch. She angrily batted him away when he tried to stuck his nose up under her skirt on more than one occasion until finally Molly admonished him with an air that brook no argument. Sirius – or Snuffles, as it was – stuck close to Harry after that.

The goodbye with his godson was highly emotional, and his heart broke a little to see the image of a younger James board the train, without himself coming along. His little witch did not even glance at him as she went after Harry and the Weasley children, and he was glad that in his Animagus form he was unable to visibly cry, as that surely would have drawn looks from the Order members in his company.

As it was, Remus joined him for a drink in the library after they got back. Sirius felt locked up in Grimmauld Place once more, as dark as it had been a few weeks ago, as his little witch had taken away again all the light and goodness that she had brought when she first came here.

As he downed his third firewhiskey, his best friend sitting in the armchair opposite him, Sirius tried to take heart. After all, if everything went according to plan, he wouldn't be alone ever again once everyone came back for Christmas. He only had to stay sane until then.

* * *

 _ **If my heart could beat, it would break my chest –**_

 _ **But I can see you're unimpressed;**_

 _ **So leave me be, and…**_

* * *

The next few months were pure agony for Sirius. He had been looking forward to September 19th, when Hermione would open his present and find the surprise hidden underneath, but the day came and went, as did the weeks following, without a message from his little witch.

Furthermore, communication with Harry was even more difficult than he would have imagined, what with that Ministry bitch, Umbridge, at the school. Sirius took heart in the fact that the trio was forming a defence group, though the idea seemed to be coming more from Hermione rather than Harry. He was proud of his little witch and his godson, though he had to chuckle at her inexperience. Holding a supposedly secret meeting in the Hog's Head of all places; she really had much to learn. Lucky for her – and himself, of course – Sirius was just the man to teach her, and both of them would take much pleasure in everything he had yet to show her and introduce her to.

After a while of him practically climbing up the walls in his impatience to hear from Hermione, Remus attempted to pacify him by saying that he probably had not received a note from her because her communication was as heavily monitored as Harry's, her being as close to Sirius's godson as she was. The words held little solace for Sirius, however, they only made him worry more about his little witch, persecuted both by her blood and by her association with Harry, neither of which was really her fault. It filled him with pride, though, to know that his fierce lioness stuck close to her best friends and remained true to her convictions, wearing her loyalty and righteousness as the badges of honour that they were.

When December eventually rolled around, Sirius found himself counting down the days until he would be joined with his love once more. He spent the days leading up to Christmas decorating the house, singing in jolly. That was, until Molly Weasley let it drop that Hermione would spend the holidays away on the continent, on a skiing trip with her parents. Sirius's heart plummeted down to somewhere close to his soles at the information. She would not come to him? And she had not even told him that in person?

Determined not to let such a drawback ruin his days with his godson, Sirius attempted to keep up his mirthful Christmas spirit, if only for outer appearances. Even when Harry and the Weasley children arrived, shocked and scared by the attack on Arthur, Sirius remained in his outwardly cheerful mood.

What up until then had been a façade became real when two days after their arrival, on December 20th, the door to headquarters opened once more, and there stood a sight for sore eyes. Her hair was even bushier than usual from the strong December wind, and her cheeks were glowing red from the harsh cold outside. Sirius's heart jumped at her unexpected presence, but before he could do something unreasonable, such as rush forward and embrace her and never let her go, that was exactly what Harry, Ron, and Ginny did. Aware that he would not manage to speak with her alone that day, he decided to bide his time.

And bide his time he did. Hermione kept up her game of cat and mouse, her the ever so clever mouse hiding away from him; him the hungry cat, desperate to catch what he knew to be a divinely delicious taste of her.

It wasn't until Christmas morning that she couldn't escape his presence anymore.

All residents of Grimmauld Place sat together before the roaring fire, and presents were happily exchanged. Sirius noticed with no little disappointment that Hermione had gone from the silk chemise and lace knickers back to her oversized tee, though the skimpy shorts she used to wear underneath had been exchanged for long-legged flannel pyjama pants. To top it all off, she wore a thick dressing gown over her sleeping attire. Nevertheless, his little witch was beautiful to him, and his heart soared with the love he held for her.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest when Ginny handed him the little box that she had delivered to Hermione for her birthday. Her knowing smile told him that Hermione had, indeed, opened his present. If he guessed correctly, his little witch's answer lay within the same box he had gifted her.

He glanced at Hermione and found her staring at him. He could not quite read her expression, her face allowing no hint as to what her answer might be. Sirius was glad that he had sat down in a quiet corner of the room when he first entered, leaving the teenagers to excitedly fawn over and dig into the pile of presents in the centre of the room. As it was, he found himself quite undisturbed as he carefully loosened the bow that was tied around the slender box.

Opening the lid, he found the items inside composed much as he had placed them. Where their positions were the same, however, the items themselves weren't. Or at least, the custom-made quill wasn't. The beautiful hippogriff plume was cut up. The rachis was still intact, but along it, most of the barbs had been cut off. The remaining barbs formed two triangles on either side of the rachis, with a column next to each, and close to the end, a circle spanning the entire width of the once magnificent feather.

A feeling of dread spreading through his stomach and crawling along his spine, Sirius lifted the remains of the quill from the box. Underneath still sat the engagement ring that Remus had helped him buy, taking him out in his dog form on a quiet day and walking with him into Muggle London where he pretended to use _'his dog's intuition'_ to choose the perfect ring. It was instantly obvious to Sirius that the ring hadn't been moved, or even touched for that matter. It still shone from the high polish that it had been given before being placed in this box which the jeweller had found a rather peculiar choice, but Remus had insisted for his best friend's sake was perfect. Sirius knew that with Hermione's constantly ink-smudged hands, the ring wouldn't look as pristine as it did had she bothered to take it out of the box.

But what came next left him breathless. He had turned over the quill. Even though most of the barbs had been cut away, the remains still showed the gold paint that he had used to write the words _'Say Yes'_ on the underside of Buckbeak's plume. Instead of answering him with the written word as he had expected her to, however, Hermione had used the feather to convey her reply. What before had appeared as randomly cut out shapes to him now clearly formed one word.

 _NO._

His heart breaking all over again, Sirius did all he could to hold in his tears. When he had eventually composed himself enough to lift his head, he instantly met her eyes. He physically and emotionally shivered at the harsh coldness he found in hers. A second later, she turned away, joining the laughter about the rhyming homework planners she had gifted the boys, and not once giving him even a backward glance.

When she left the room to put away the obviously awful perfume that Ron had gifted her, Sirius finally managed to corner her on the top of the staircase.

"Why?" he croaked out, no control over his broken voice.

"You mean, _why_ _not?"_ Hermione corrected, taking a step backwards, away from him, and the motion hurt Sirius more than he could ever hope to express. "Why don't I want to marry the obsessive lunatic who fancies himself in love with me and takes that as an excuse to force himself on me? Why don't I marry the abusive bastard who _raped_ me? Who _goaded_ me all throughout the experience that _nobody will ever believe me?"_

Now it was Sirius who took a step back, staggered by her accusations.

"But kitten, you _liked_ it, you came around me, I felt it," he begged. "Don't turn me away now, love."

"You _forced_ an orgasm out of me, Sirius. I didn't enjoy that in the least – kneeling underneath you, chained to your bed, and you painfully pumping away…

"I disregarded your marriage proposals as insincere before, as sprung from sexual desire, but now…" Hermione drew a deep breath. "Now they are the incorporation of your rapidly waning insanity, and I _beg_ you to desist. Please, Sirius, _just stop."_

And with a sob, her voice finally broke, and she fled downstairs to join the safety of the celebrating crowd once more.

* * *

Sirius worried. Hermione's words about how he had raped her played over and over in his mind, never stopping. His fears from earlier that year returned, when he had sat with Remus and Kingsley in the library drinking, and he now knew that should his little witch decide to approach somebody with her version of that fateful night's events, there was no way Sirius would win in a he-said-she-said situation. If it was her word against his, everybody would believe the darling little sunshine, the know-it-all sidekick, the innocent swot who could do nothing wrong in their eyes.

Then he remembered what the black auror had said about memories. He knew that the Order leadership would never drag him before the Wizengamot for an official rape trial; they were neither stupid enough to believe that Hermione had any chance of winning that trial, nor were they disloyal enough to rat out one of their own over such a rather minor issue when compared to a war. No, Albus would extract Hermione's memories, and whatever they depicted would probably find Sirius Black guilty, no matter what he said.

That left him with exactly one option.

Fortunately, Dung was only too happy to help him with that. The potion was extremely expensive, as it contained rare and dangerous ingredients, and was highly addictive at that. After having spent all his cash – that Remus had kindly had exchanged into Muggle Pounds Sterling – on Hermione's engagement ring, he had nothing left. Luckily, Dung was never one much for cash anyway.

"This is dark stuff, Sirius," he had objected, "difficult to come by, and pricey to obtain."

"Oh, for Morgana's sake, Dung," Sirius had exclaimed, "I have a full set of silver goblets, engraved with the Black sigil and everything. Just promise me one thing," and he had paused for effect, "those things are probably cursed, so please sell them to somebody who deserves quite a bit of pain, will you?"

And Dung had showed him his best black-and-yellow, mostly toothy smile, and was gone. Sirius did not hear back from him for several days and had grown impatient and increasingly nervous, when eventually, in the early hours of the last day of the year, Dung turned up again, handing him a very small vial. He gave a mocking bow when he received his payment, stowing the goblets away in a small sack, careful not to let his skin touch them through his holey gloves, and disappeared from headquarters equally fast.

Still happy from his success in procuring the potion, Sirius was less cautious than usual, and was quickly intercepted by his best friend.

"Padfoot," Remus began, his voice already taking on a patronizing tone, "what are you doing with that?"

"I need it," Sirius merely said, and attempted to push around Remus to head to his room.

His attempt was easily thwarted by the larger and stronger werewolf, of course.

"You know that's not for long-term experiences, don't you?" Remus asked, concern now colouring his voice.

"I know, Moony," Sirius replied "and I'm not trying to rid myself of Azkaban. It's just –" He broke off, then tried again. "She said No."

"Oh, Padfoot," Remus instantly offered his sympathy, "but do you really think that this is the best way to get over that?"

"Moony, _she said_ _No_ ," Sirius reiterated, desperation creeping into his voice. "There is no way for me to make this right. And I want to start the new year on a blank page, so to speak. No past hurts getting in the way of things."

"But a Trauma Potion?" Remus tried again. "I mean, I know she hurt you, but is that the way to go? Just forget the whole thing?"

Understanding dawned on Sirius. Remus obviously thought that he meant to take the potion himself, to dull the pain at Hermione's rejection. That he in fact meant to slip the concoction to the witch he now realized he had wronged by ignoring her pleas to pull out apparently never occurred to Remus. This revelation simplified things.

"Yes," Sirius said with conviction, "I believe forgetting is the only way to work past this. And now let me through, if you will, please. There's a party tonight, and I'd like to get some sleep before that."

And that was how he found himself in the company of a happy crowd later that day, celebrating into the new year of 1996. What he was looking for still, however, was an occasion to share a drink with his lady love.

The opportunity presented itself later that night in the form of Ronald Weasley.

Molly and Arthur had long gone to bed, begging Remus to take care that the children didn't stay up for too long. Remus had followed soon after, leaving the teenagers in Sirius's hands, against his better judgement. The twins nicked a bottle of firewhiskey – not Old Odgen's, as that was a little heavy on the head, but a lighter bottle that their generous host recommended – and vanished to their room. Ginny left for bed a little later, followed by Harry who wanted to 'wish her a happy new year' in private. Hermione, luckily, was too polite to ruin the moment for her two friends, and Ron was reluctant to leave the never-ending supply of alcohol.

"Now, for one more toast," Sirius said loudly to capture Hermione's attention, "let us drink to the new year together, why don't we? I wish to commend you two for taking such good care of my godson during the times I can't."

Hermione determinedly shook her head.

"No thanks," she answered in icy politeness. "I think I will be off to bed now. Good night."

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron said. "You can't forever keep pushing the man away."

" _Excuse me?"_ Hermione exclaimed, shocked. Sirius had to admit, he was more than a little surprised himself. What did the redhead know?

"You know, you argue with him over Kreacher so much, it's a real pain in the ass, and not just for Sirius," he continued in his alcohol-induced, brutally honest confidence. "Dobby is the exception, _not_ the rule, and really, you can't save everybody. You saw where that road led with Winky last year. So _please_ , just take a drink with the man, and let bygones be bygones and all that crap. Just, for Merlin's sake, _get over it."_

Sirius had never thought much of the youngest Weasley boy, if only for the reason that he never thought much _about_ him, other than the fact that he was the constant third wheel whenever Sirius wanted some time alone with his godson. But in this moment, Sirius could have kissed him.

Hermione was still reluctant, but there was no route of escape for her, not this time. Instead, she took the next best option.

"Alright," she agreed, "alright. Just _one_ drink. But no firewhiskey for me, please," she said, and a confident smile cautiously crept over her face, "I'd rather take brandy instead. I can see you have that bottle that Molly and Arthur gave you for Christmas? I think I'd like a taste of that."

Sirius smiled inwardly. He had to hand it to her, she was nothing if not clever, even in her sneakiness. Of course he still had that bottle of brandy, unopened and sealed as it was. It appeared his little witch was wary enough of him to fear that he would lace her drink with something, and would even drug Ron on the way, if he offered both of them a drink from the same bottle. In demanding that he serve her from a sealed bottle, she was certain to have worked her way around the attempt at drugging her.

It was of little consequence to Sirius. He gladly poured her a generous amount of the brandy into a glass. Little did she know that the glass itself came prepared. Sirius wouldn't spoil a good bottle of expensive firewhiskey only to fix some issue. No, he would rather coat the inside of a certain glass.

All that was needed for the Trauma Potion to remove the correct memory was for the drinker to think intently of the experience. Sirius knew that as long as he was close to her, Hermione was unlikely to be able to think of anything else but their fateful night together.

They toasted each other, Ron rather drunkenly, but Sirius had eyes only for his little witch as she contentedly and in a very self-satisfied hauteur drained her glass in a few sips. After she had finished, she excused herself to bed, and Sirius saw Ron off to the room he shared with Harry to sleep late into the new year.

His sleep-in was interrupted, however, by a frantic knocking on his door as early as 11 a.m. the next morning. Opening it, he found what he had so longed for: his little witch in the doorway to his room.

Leaning down to kiss her and draw her into his arms and, subsequently, his bed, was thwarted by two small hands shoving at his shoulders to keep him away from her face.

"Sirius Black," his little witch raged, seething in her fury, her curls almost sparking with uncontrolled magic, _"what have you done?"_


	5. Sweet Release

_A/N: Hello and welcome back, my dear readers. First off, please forgive me this huge wait for the final chapter, but it proved to be quite the struggle for me. Now, I sat down today and finished the last two scenes, and after getting the approval of my dear friend, fellow author, and gifted writer (really, go check out her works!) **McGonagal'sCat** , I am now confident enough to publish the **Sweet Release** to my story Rest in Peace. I wish to thank all of you for accompanying on this very interesting journey that writing this little (or rather surprisingly lengthy) song fic turned out to be. And since I made you wait for this final chapter for quite some time, I won't hold you back any longer - enjoy!_

 _A/N 2: All spoken dialogue from the final scene in this chapter was taken from "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix", ch. 35. Anything you recognize belongs to JKR, anything unfamiliar stems from my own imagination._

* * *

 _Leaning down to kiss her and draw her into his arms and, subsequently, his bed, was thwarted by two small hands shoving at his shoulders to keep him away from her face._

" _Sirius Black," his little witch raged, seething in her fury, her curls almost sparking with uncontrolled magic, "what have you done?"_

* * *

 _ **Let me rest in peace,**_

 _ **Let me get some sleep.**_

* * *

To say that Sirius was surprised at her outburst would have been a gross understatement. Shocked as he was at her accusing question, he remembered to look up and down the hallway as well as check the stairs for anybody who might be listening. When he found nobody, the relief was not intense enough for him to feel overly confident and carry on their conversation out in the open.

"Why don't we take this inside, love?" he suggested.

Hermione looked at him, her perfect white teeth worrying her bottom lip until it was coloured a deep healthy passionate red, then brushed past him into his room. Sirius took a moment to celebrate in his heart at having her in his private chambers once more. Then he followed her, taking care to lock the door and silence the room. When he turned to his little witch, she had her wand in hand, held low enough not to point at him directly, but raised to a degree that oozed of a less-than-subtle threat.

"Why are you holding your wand, kitten?" Sirius asked. "Does the restriction of underage magic not apply to you anymore?"

"You know very well it does," Hermione hissed back, every bit the angry kitten, "but I will not find myself defenceless and alone in a room with you ever again."

Her words shook Sirius to the core. Had the Trauma potion not worked? Did she, in fact, remember everything from that fateful night a few months back? If yes, did she know that he had tried to erase that night's memory from her mind, and would she go to Dumbledore with this? Or Kingsley? Or anybody, really?

Testing the waters, Sirius cautiously asked, "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, his little witch took on an expression of frightened confusion and desperate frustration. For a minute, that look seemed all she could manage in the way of a reply, until she eventually found her voice.

"Sirius Black," she reiterated, "what did you _do_?"

Inwardly, Sirius exhaled a sigh of relief. It seemed the potion had worked, indeed, and all that was left was some confusion as her brain struggled with the extraction of one particular memory, or rather, with connecting the memories of the months following that particular memory in which Hermione dealt with that night that was now missing from her mind.

"I merely gave you one glass of brandy, love," Sirius assured his little witch, "nothing more. If you need some hangover cure, I'm almost certain that the twins will have something for that, those sneaky little bastards."

Hermione shook her head as if denying what he was telling her. Come to think of it, she was.

"What was in the brandy, Sirius?" she asked. "What did you give me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sirius said. "After all, the bottle was still sealed when you asked for a glass of the brandy. You saw that yourself, remember? You specifically asked for that unopened bottle that I had only just gotten for Christmas."

"No no no no no," Hermione whispered, as if only to herself, "something happened, I know it did, something is not right."

"Kitten?" Sirius asked cautiously. "Hermione, talk to me, love, please, just look at me. What's wrong?"

The witch in question did not look at him. Instead, she began pacing up and down the far wall, her eyes trained on the floor, as if the answer to her concerns could be found there.

"I remember being wary of you," she sought to explain as she paced, "fearful, even. I was terribly angry and hurt, I know. Not physically, I think, but emotionally, and deeply at that. I remember… I remember feeling scarred, but I can't for the life of me remember why. I feel like – "

And at that she stopped, and her eyes met his, though unseeing, as she uttered her next words.

"I feel like my whole body itches from some former pain, like from a rope burn, maybe, but there is no evidence that I was ever tied. There is no _memory_ of ever being tied, and I just – I want to scratch myself all over, scratch the itch away, but there is nothing _there_ , and I – "

She broke off and resumed her pacing. Sirius was shell-shocked at how close she had come to the truth, even though she was unaware of it. He remembered how raw her wrists had been rubbed from the silken strands tying her to his bed. He struggled not to look behind him at the bed posts, lest he give himself and the stolen memory away.

In his shock, Sirius realized that he had not thought of a story to tell his little witch, something believable that would explain how a night of her life suddenly went missing, leaving a trail of unconnected emotions in its wake. Struggling for a lie that could replace that one traumatic experience, now gone from her mind forever, he knew that he just had to make it up along the way.

"You came to my room tonight," he began.

"No, I didn't," Hermione shot him down. "I wouldn't. I know I wouldn't."

But her face still showed some of the confusion it had so drastically displayed only minutes prior.

"You wouldn't remember," Sirius countered. "You were visibly drunk. You knocked on my door, some time around six, I guess, and came onto me, begging to be taken. I refused, of course. I'd never take advantage of you. I refused, and I sent you back to your room."

"That can't be," Hermione whispered, though the conviction of her words was not mirrored in her voice. "I don't remember any of that, and I wasn't _that_ drunk. I had only one glass of brandy, I know that. _You_ know that. _Don't lie to me."_

"I'm not lying to you," Sirius said, hoping she'd believe him. "I've _never_ lied to you, _would_ never lie to you." He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage, and plunged on. "It appears you didn't take to the brandy too well, love, and lost that memory to a minor blackout. Or, let's hope it was a minor blackout, and you're not missing anything substantial. Now, that emotion you're feeling, that itch you long to scratch? That's the sting of rejection." His voice turned bitter. "I only know that one too well. And even though you can't remember coming to my room last night, deep inside you knew that it was to do with me, and you came to me to make it right. To scratch that itch, so to speak. And now that you're mostly sober, love, I will gladly scratch it for you."

Hermione was still shaking her head, rejecting his story for the lie that she could not certainly know it was.

"I don't believe you," she said. "I'd never come close to you, let alone _onto_ you. Also, I had far too little brandy to be that inebriated, much less drunk enough to black out. _I don't believe you."_

"I understand," Sirius said, getting completely wrapped up in this little story he was so merrily, yet desperately spinning. "You're embarrassed, and that's alright, that's only natural, you know. But now, in broad daylight, now that you're mostly sober again, all is well. Everything is fine, love. There is nothing to worry about."

He went over to her, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, as if deliberating over every single step, leaving her time to push him away. She did not.

When he was in front of her, he raised his hands to her hair, fingers softly entangling themselves in her curly mane.

"I still love you, you know," he assured her. "I could never stop loving you, even if I tried, and certainly not over some minor incident such as this. Look at me," he whispered, cupping her chin to tilt her head upwards so that her eyes could meet his loving gaze. She seemed frightened, but did not shy away from him.

"I haven't been with you for weeks," she whispered.

"You were at Hogwarts, kitten, you couldn't come to me," Sirius countered, his eyes not leaving hers.

"No," she insisted, "after that. I haven't been to your room for all the Christmas hols, I know. I would remember coming here, now, wouldn't I?"

Sirius did not know what to say to that, so he decided not to answer her question at all. Instead, he once more sought to convince her of his sincerity.

"Look at me," Sirius reiterated in a whisper. "Look into my eyes and decide for yourself if I am lying. I will bow to your judgement. But when you realize that I am telling you nothing but the truth, then I hope you will know me as an honest man, who is perfectly able and whole-heartedly willing to make an honest woman out of you."

Her eyes did not leave his as he let go of her jaw that he had lovingly cupped before, his hands stroking some warmth into the cool skin of her upper arms, eventually sliding down to gently settle around her wrists as he leaned in for a kiss.

At that, Hermione suddenly recoiled. She shrank back in horror, visibly in fear of him, and a look of pure terror plain on her face. To see her shy away from him in this drastic a way hurt Sirius more than he could ever hope to express, his heart bursting from the emotional pain her fear invoked in him.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, desperate for some explanation.

"Don't touch me," she said, her voice shaking as she struggled to compose her features into some semblance of what was socially acceptable between lovers, "just – don't touch me there."

"Don't touch you where, kitten?"

"My wrists," she said. "Don't touch my wrists. It feels – it's just plain _wrong_ , and I don't want you to touch me. Please," she begged, "just _stay away_."

"Alright, love, alright," Sirius sought to reassure her, "I will stay away from your wrists, I promise."

Deliberately keeping his eyes on hers, ever searching for permission, he approached her as one might a frightened animal. His little witch visibly fought for composure, and did nothing to approach Sirius in turn, but did not shrink back from him either. When he stretched out his hands so that she would see where he would touch her, she fixed her gaze on them, watching as they settled on her stomach. Sirius could feel her shaking like aspen leaves as his hands stroked over her tummy, outwards to her hips, sliding around to the small of her back until he stood so close to her that his body heat warmed her front.

Her eyes sought out his, her expression unreadable, almost as if she was seeking permission in turn, though not from him but rather as if she was asking herself if giving into his embrace was alright. It appeared that it was, in fact, alright, as her hands came up to his chest, flat against his taut muscles, before she leaned in, resting her head against his torso. She gave a sigh of cautious contentment, and Sirius gently pulled her closer until she stood between his slightly spread legs, her whole front resting against his warmer body.

In that moment, that blissful moment, Sirius knew he had his Hermione back.

Not the cold, calculating Hermione who had slowly dissembled his heart until the pieces were small enough to run through a filter.

Not the hot, passionate Hermione who had boiled his blood and hardened his cock.

No. This was his very own fragile, vulnerable Hermione, every inch the young, insecure witch who had come to his bed so many weeks ago, because he was the one she felt safe with, the one who accepted her, the one she trusted to guide her.

And in turn, Sirius knew he would always be the one who loved her.

* * *

 _ **Let me take my love and bury it**_

 _ **In a hole six foot deep.**_

* * *

Hermione did not make it into his bed that morning, as a few minutes into their innocent, but intimate embrace, people could be heard rising in Grimmauld Place. Sirius ushered Hermione out of his room, still not having been granted his kiss, with the promise to see her later.

His next step was to take Remus to the side. He cornered him in his room, before he could make his way down to breakfast. Sirius implored him to not speak to Hermione again of what had happened that one night in summer, as she had forgiven him. _Forgiven and forgotten,_ Sirius said with only a sliver of guilt that was easily suppressed, and as she was too embarrassed to talk about that night, would Remus please never mention it again in her presence or to anybody else for that matter? His best friend was visibly relieved that Sirius had won back his love, and gladly promised anything that was demanded of him to help keep the peace.

Sirius felt renewed, reborn even, and ready to face the world with a new skip in his every step. That joyful exhilaration rapidly died down over the next few days, however, as the end of the Christmas holidays drew near. His gloomy mood was palpable, he knew, as conversations tended to die down whenever he entered a room, and even Harry was careful with what he said around his godfather. More and more, Sirius drew back into himself, electing to spend time with Buckbeak instead of the children, to get used to being alone once more, so that the shock wouldn't be too great when his little witch and her friends would mount the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts.

Sometimes he still stopped and wondered when _'his godson and his friends'_ had become _'his little witch and her friends'_ , but the answer came easily. Harry was not the one to warm Sirius's bed at night, to moan as Sirius's fingers found the wetness between his legs, to buck wildly in ecstasy as Sirius's thumb perfected the movement that sent him over the edge. No, Harry did not own those glorious mounds that pressed into Sirius's chest as they hugged close, nor did his bum form that delicious crevice that cupped Sirius's hard cock as it wiggled closer to him.

Nor did Harry gradually distance himself from Sirius as the days dragged on, withdrawing from his presence as the holidays drew to a close, for no explicable reason whatsoever.

No, Harry didn't.

Hermione did.

And when Snivellus came to call Harry arrogant and Sirius a coward, something inside Sirius just snapped. Words were exchanged, wands were drawn, and a heart was shattered once more as the Weasleys tumbled into the room, Hermione in tow, and her disappointed, but not really surprised disgust at his antagonistic stance towards her professor was just too much for Sirius.

He could not stand it anymore. The hot and cold, the intimacy and the distance, the pull and the push, the affection and the rejection. He yearned for his little witch's love, but he could not stand _her_ anymore.

Sirius forced a smile onto his face, laughing raucously at the twins' rude jokes, and trying to show all the love for Harry that his too-often broken heart could afford. And when on January 12th the door to Grimmauld Place eventually fell shut behind the teenagers and their guards, Sirius could finally breathe again.

* * *

 _ **I can lay my body down**_

 _ **But I can't find my sweet release,**_

 _ **So let me rest in peace.**_

* * *

And thus, night passed after night, week after week, month after month. What little news there was from Hogwarts held little information, and there were long periods of time where Sirius heard nothing at all of what was happening at the school. When he was told that Hermione had a date for Valentine's day – it appeared that Tonks managed to exchange letters with Ginny every once in a while – Sirius spent the night nursing a bottle of firewhiskey. It mattered little when he found out that it had merely been for an interview Hermione had organised for Harry with Skeeter. The fact was that she had spent the day away from his loving embrace, and it hurt her less than it hurt him – if the fact even registered with her at all.

His next drinking binge came when Kingsley spent the night at Grimmauld Place, regaling Remus and Sirius with the tale of how Dumbledore made his grand exit via phoenix, going on and on about ' _style'_. Sirius listened with less than half an ear; too busy was he shooting glares at the dark-skinned auror who had promised to take his little witch away if he did not secure her until graduation.

Sirius tried telling himself that he couldn't care less who got stuck with the cold-hearted bitch who had shattered him to pieces whenever it had struck her fancy, but the thought held no conviction. Instead, his cock hardened whenever he thought of how little he missed her soft breasts that were so much warmer than the organ that supposedly beat underneath them, or when he told himself that the place that the crevice of her lower cheeks held for his _lust_ was no substitute for the place that her heart just could not find for his _love._

Sirius's life took a turn for a new low at the dawn of April. Nothing much had changed at headquarters, but that was exactly why Sirius drew back into himself more and more. More than ever did his loneliness hit him. It had been difficult for him to keep his wits together with the continued absence of his little witch – the one he had vowed to keep out of his life –, but in the past few months she had had the excuse of school keeping her away from his bed. Now, however, that the Easter holidays had started and she didn't come to him – nor did Harry, for that matter – he truly broke down. More than once, Remus had to pry the bottle of Old Odgen's from his hands, and shoo him off to bed.

The year dragged on and Sirius's life didn't improve, nor did his mood, as was palpable to everybody around him. It irked him that he could not be there for his godson and his little witch to show support during their OWLs, but at the same time, he was quite put out at the thought that probably neither of the two wanted his support.

It was as if the blissful nights with Hermione had been for nothing. He had not managed to convince her of his love, to shower her with affection until she felt the same for him, and he had not secured her as his wife by his side. He realized that things might never be the same again between the two of them, and never as he wished them to be. And with that realization came back the bottomless darkness that he had wallowed in before she had come into his life.

Sirius was officially back in his own personal hell.

* * *

 _ **Why won't you**_

 _ **Let me rest in peace?**_

* * *

All that changed in the middle of June, when Snivellus strode into Grimmauld Place as if he owned the place, informing them of what he called the _'idiocy'_ of Sirius's godson to follow a vision sent by Voldemort, and break into the Department of Mysteries on his own. Well, not completely on his own, as at least Hermione and a few others appeared to accompany him on his _'mind-numbingly stupid'_ (again, Snape's words) quest.

While Snape returned to Hogwarts, Sirius had to wait until Remus had rallied Tonks, Moody, and Shacklebolt as reinforcements, and together they stormed the Ministry. Sirius wanted to throttle the witch behind the serene voice of the elevators, but soon had the chance to direct his anger where it belonged – Death Eaters.

Sirius took on the black-robed mask-faced bastard nearest to him, duelling him halfway across the room, in the blur of curses only half seeing Harry and a friend of his still standing, apparently largely unharmed. He finished his Death Eater off a minute later – just in time to physically push Dolohov away from Harry who had fallen to the ground. Dolohov quickly engaged him in duel, until a _Petrificus Totalus_ came out of nowhere, making the Russian keel over backwards in a full body-bind.

"Nice one," Sirius complimented Harry when he found that his godson had incapacitated his duel opponent. Looking around the room, he was both glad and worried to be unable to find his little witch. _Where was Hermione?_ Hoping against hope that she had made it out of the Department of Mysteries, he realized that he had no time to ask, much less look after her. His highest priority now had to be the safety of his godson.

"Now," he began to say, "I want you to get out of –"

A jet of light, the bright green colour leaving no doubt as to the nature of the curse, narrowly missed Sirius as he and Harry ducked. Sirius saw Tonks toppling down the stairs, and with a last command at Harry to get the hell out of the Ministry, he went to take on his cousin.

As he and Bellatrix shot curses back and forth between them, most of what was happening around them faded from Sirius's view as he was drawn into their duel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry defeat Malfoy, and breathed a cautious sigh of relief as Remus ran towards his godson in what Sirius assumed to be an attempt at convincing the boy to go.

After that, all he could concentrate on was the bitch opposite him. Her hair was a mane of fury surrounding her hollow face, her huge eyes appearing even bigger on the gaunt, haunted air that Azkaban had left her with. As his body settled into the once comfortable back and forth of duelling, so used to the motions that they now came of their own, Sirius's mind wandered to another witch. The witch he was thinking of had curly hair as well, though her curls were of a deep chocolate, highlighted by strands of dark gold. Her whiskey-coloured eyes were big, as were his cousins, but the look in them was soft, not crazed, even when they sparkled in anger. How often had he gazed into those doe eyes, taking comfort from the warmth he found there?

But how often, Sirius reminded himself, had the coldness in her stare made his body shiver and his heart shrink back from the pain her hurtful gaze caused him? How often had the siren that his little witch had turned out to be lured him in, only to shove him away once she had gotten what she wanted from him, leaving him bereft?

No, Sirius decided, no more. He had spent nights, weeks, _months_ even, falling for her, but no more. He was done falling. Hermione Granger had done her best to destroy him, but there he was, still standing tall.

Bellatrix threw another curse at him that Sirius easily deflected. He laughed at how easy it was to escape the pain that the curly-haired bitch had attempted to cause him when he simply did not allow it to reach him.

"Come on," he laughed in his cousin's face, "you can do better than that!"

Sirius realized then that really, there was not that large a difference between the witch he was engaging in duel and the one he had engaged in much more intimate affairs with all those weeks ago. He had been giving Hermione and their relationship all that he'd got, but apparently, it had both been too much for her and not enough at the same time. His little witch had countered his love with hurt, yet all the emotional darkness that she had brought him with the pain she caused had still been far brighter than the blackness that engulfed him in her absence.

Another jet of light hurtled towards him.

Certainly, Sirius thought, it was better to be standing tall, but how much harm was there really in falling, _just one more time?_ After all, he had had enough of black in Azkaban to last him for a life time, why not embrace the light once more? Why not embrace his little witch in all her magnitude, in both her affection and her pain?

Yes, he decided, _yes._ He was of the Light, and the Light should be in him.

His arms opened as if in an embrace. The jet of light hit his chest. Sirius's eyes widened and his heart lightened at the power with which it made contact. He remembered how much emotional change his little witch had brought into his life, so why would it surprise him that the light would affect him physically right now?

A smile spread over his face as Sirius gave in to the power behind the light, stumbling backwards, and eventually falling, just that one more time.

The ragged veil of the arch embraced him.

* * *

 _A/N to guest reviewer Lizzie: Hello Lizzie. Sorry for not responding to your repeated questions whether this story would have a HEA. I couldn't very well spoil this story's ending in my Author's Note to the second chapter, saying 'Sorry, but Sirius dies, and Hermione doesn't care', now could I? ;) Even though I very much wanted to steal one of the lines that were added into Game of Thrones that didn't stem from GRRM's feather, and write_ 'If you still think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention'. _:) Feel free to sign up for an account on FFnet and contact me via PM! As always, I'd love to converse with any reader/writer who is up for it._


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